Life moved at a dreary pace in a remote corner at the edge of the fifty-eighth district. A chaotic maze of narrow alleys lined by poorly built huts and buildings all constructed using rotting wood and salvaged bricks stacked haphazardly and held together using frayed ropes rusted nails and clay. Or in some cases, mud.

The night, was like any other.

Inside a modest, cramped room nestled within one of many poorly maintained and dilapidated buildings that were bereft of fresh air, and lit up by dim moonlight that crept through a thin rag hung over a broken window a young man lay asleep.

Bundled up in an absolute mess of rags and worn-out clothes that rose and fell in a steady rhythm, he remained undisturbed and lost in the serenity of his dreams. Smiling knowingly as if all his troubles had been whisked away.

What exactly could the young man have been dreaming about that made him look so peaceful? For some reason the knowing smile plastered on his face turned into a sly grin and he groaned, then murmured under his voice in a low and lustful tone.

"No... Don't leave me beautiful... I thought we were having fun?"

Then a mischievous chuckle escaped his lips.

Oh. So it was that kind of dream.

The young man was shamelessly wallowing in his depravity, but could you really blame him? Dreams were the only place they could realistically go to escape the harsh realities of life. If only for a brief few hours.

The sound of leaves rustling that would reach his ears through the broken window created a calming melody that cut through the silence of the night. Serving no purpose but to enhance those few and short, blissful hours.

But sadly for the young man, tonight that serenity was to be short-lived. 

Interrupting his peaceful slumber, was the sudden creaking of loose floorboards that echoed from the hallway by his room. The muffled sound seeped through the cracks in his door and into the young man's dreams, tugging at him relentlessly and stirring him awake.

A faint irritated groan escaped his lips.

"Five more minutes!" the young man mumbled.

And shortly after, silence returned once again. But only for a brief moment as barely a second later, a clatter echoed through the halls, louder and more insistent as well.

The young man burried his head into a pile of rags and draped the cleanest shirt he could find over his head. All in a futile attempt to muffle the sounds. But once again, the floorboards creaked. A faint thud followed, like something heavy was being knocked or dragged.

Then came the sharp sound of glass breaking. Its scattered shards skittering across the floor and finally... silence... Thick and oppressive yet blissful silence fell.

As unbelievable as it might sound, through all this, the young man remained in his bed, attributing the noises to a figment of his imagination or maybe even a part of his dream.

Though barely a minute later, the door to his small closet of a room swung open, slamming against the crooked wall. But before he could thing to react, a low feminine voice spoke in a hurried tone.

"Mathew honey... wake up."

Her voice was a trembling thread that only just held together as she gasped for a breath. Covered in blood as she barged in, she opened a wooden chest by the wall, grabbed handfuls of clothes and shoved them into a small bag.

Mathew sat up, his eyes half open, glazed over and groggy from the sleep he so desired but was repeatedly denied. Utterly confused by what was happening, he rubbed his face, trying to spark himself to action, frowned, and asked.

"Mom?"

He rubbed his eyes again, blinking hard to clear the haze clouding his mind before continuing. 

"What's... "

Before he could finish his question she had shoved the last of his clothes in and zipped up the bag. Then in one swift motion, she grabbed and yanked him out of bed and to his feet, saying in a weighty tone.

"There's no time to explain. Come with me!"

She dragged him out and led him through the dark hallway. His mind raced and his imagination went wild with the possibility of what could be happening.

As they walked through the short narrow hallway they past his mother's room. The door was slightly ajar and in front of it were shards of glass littering the floor. Mathew's heart raced, and despite his better judgement he stole a glance inside. What he saw in that brief moment sent a blood-curdling chill rolling down his spine.

Inside, a man lay sprawled on the floor, motionless and surrounded in a dark and constantly spreading pool of crimson that seeped steadily from a gash on his neck with what looked to be a broken bottle lodged in his flesh.

The sinking weight of realization struck him.

Those muffled sounds, the creaking floorboards, the shattering glass, and even the scream.

The cause of all of the sounds that he tried desperately to ignore was now before him and was suddenly more significant, more important than his sleep as it was something he had seen many times while living so close to the slums, but never thought he would ever see in his home.

A corpse!

From this moment on, his life, granted it was already everything short of a peaceful one, would change and be turned on its head. Mathew's mother tugged on his arm, jarring him back to reality, and dragged him into the room at the end of the hallway. It was a cramped space with nothing but a rotting old wooden table and a few mismatched and equally rotting chairs around it. 

Behind that sad excuse for a dining room stood a lonesome window through which he saw something. Something he found, strange.

The young man glimpsed a group of figures moving suspiciously just outside the building. If they were not already, his groggy eyes cleared. What was happening? Was he dreaming? His mind was filled with questions, and no matter how hard he tried, none of this made any sense to him.

"Mom? What's going on?"

She glanced at him but didn't answer. Only tightening her grip and leading him into the kitchen. They moved quietly to the counter. The faint click of metal echoed as his mother pulled out a drawer. Fumbling for a moment before finding the handle of a knife.

With the blade in hand, they slid towards a wooden door adjacent to the counter.

The door creaked as she opened it, peered through, looking left then right to make sure no one was there then pulled him through.

They exited into a back alley. After descending a set of stairs, they found a tarp draped over something. His mother swiftly yanked it off and under it, there was an old and broken-down-looking car that looked to have been there for years. She pulled out a key and opened the door, shoveling Mathew into the front seat, before throwing the bag and knife in her hand into the back and jumping into the driver's seat

.

As she closed her door Mathew stared on, baffled by the developing situation then asked in a skeptical tone.

"I don't know what's going on, but this thing hasn't run in years right?"

"No son. No it hasn't'

"So, what's the plan here? Pray it magically..."

Before he could finish his statement, the engine sputtered, coughed then roared to life. For a moment, he just stared at her, his lips curling into a dry, humorless smirk.

"Well I'll be damned," he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief. "Guess miracles are real."

"It wasn't a miracle you brat."

"Yeah sure, whatever."

Despite the constant bouts of sarcasm, there was a growing sense of unease that crept into Mathew's thoughts. But before he could think to gather them, the sound of tires screeching pounded against his eardrums and the car sped away.

Leaving behind the place he called home.