Wilfrid ran. A trail of anguished screams followed his every step.

“Hey! What’d I say ‘bout squealin’!?” The butcher rhetorically asked, in an mildly annoyed tone.

Wilfrid didn't respond to the deranged man, he couldn't even if he wanted to. His mouth expelled nothing but bursts of hot air. Wilfrid cursed his own body. He had only ran about one hundred feet so far, and he already ached. The air in his lungs had long abandoned him.

He inhaled as much air as he could. “Help… Help!” He managed to escape from his lips, in between the flurry of pained breathing.

But no one heard him… There was the no one there. His father, Henry, Keith, not even a trace of the once lively mob. -Where the hell ‘ave they gone?- He thought to himself.

“Hey Willy?” Someone asked, from right behind him.

Wilfrid immediately turned his head around, not bothering to process whose voice it might have been.

It was Death’s...

“Caught ya!” Said Ned, in triumphant. He raised the arm that gripped the blood-stained cleaver, and swung it down again. With a precision and speed, that would put a woodcutter's axe technique to shame.

Wilfrid didn't have many things he was proud of. He was short, fat, slow, and while stronger than the average sixteen year old, his strength was easily dwarfed by many others he knew. He was slightly proud of his intelligence, but it wasn't particularly amazing. He knew if he lived somewhere in which the common man didn't only think about how to cook their potatoes, or make love to their turnip-shaped wives, his brain wouldn't stand out at all. However, there was something he knew he had which would always be special, no matter where he goes... His eyes.

Wilfrid’s monochrome eyes were awarded the title of 20/20 vision. This meant that he could see anything clearly at a distance of twenty feet. And while this was impressive, it wasn't what made them abnormal. Neither did his above average peripheral vision, depth perception, eye coordination. His power was the amount of frames his eyes could perceive.

It was difficult to properly measure how many frames a person could see - since it was all very relative. Wilfrid didn’t realise he had this ability, until twelve years old. He thought it was normal to wave his hand back & forth, and see every twitch, sway, and flick. Or watch a car race, and be able to see every minute detail of the car - like it was barely moving at all. He was able to amaze many of his fellow pupils in school, by correctly guessing what side a coin will land, every time. Because of his eyes, in activities like boxing or rounders, he was able to hold his own against his much more skilled and stronger peers.

Thanks to his keen eyesight, Wilfrid was able to see and dodge the fatal slash of the crimson blade. Abandoning all grace, he flung his body forward, and tumbled to the ground. Luckily, his body was only dealt minor damage from the fall, due to the thick bedding of grass, and Wilfrid’s abundance of fat - cushioning the blow. Unfortunately, Wilfrid had sustained pain from somewhere. He felt warm wet beads of liquid trickle down his back, shortly followed by a prickly stinging sensation.

Wilfrid placed his left hand on his back, in search of the source. He winced in pain when his hand found a large damp patch on his upper back. He was pretty sure he knew what it was, but he checked his left hand for residue. Blood… Just as he thought. Even if his eyes had seen the attack, that doesn't necessarily mean he would be able to move swiftly enough to dodge the blow.

Wilfrid once again cursed his bloated body. At least he was able to move quickly enough to turn the fatal blow into a minor wound. At least, Wilfrid hoped it was minor.

“You’re faster than you look, Willy-boy.” His attacker complimented.

-Shit!- Wilfrid yelled internally. He was so caught up inspecting his wound, he had momentarily forgotten about the person who gave it to him.

It was tempting to just remain on the soft cool grass, and wait for his inevitable demise. Though Wilfrid knew deep down that he couldn't do that. It was him who wished for the world to change, to become more exciting, and he got his wish. So he didn’t have the right to give up on life any more.

Ignoring the stinging pain from his back, Wilfrid pressed his palms onto the ground and pushed up. He rose slowly and sluggishly. Luckily, for some reason the butcher wasn’t attacking him. He grabbed the pitchfork he dropped when he fell, and stared at his adversary.

His opponent, outweighed him, most of which looked to be muscle. He held weapons that he had been using to carve meat, since before Wilfrid was born. His ugly face boasted a gross confidence.

“Seems like you ain’t gonna run away no more. Good, I feel like ‘avin a good tussle. Slaughterin’ pigs gets ol’ real fast. ” Grinned Ned.

Wilfrid buried his fatigue, pain, and fear. He had never killed someone before, and while he never really liked Ned, he didn’t want to kill him. It seemed he had no choice... It was either him or Ned. Flight had failed him, so his only option left was to fight.

Wilfrid’s forearms bulged from the amount of force he summoned in his grip. He aimed the rusted prongs of the giant fork at the butcher, and waited.

“You sure be a lazy one, Willy-boy. Standin’ there all still like you got a rod in your backside… Fine, I’ll go first.” Said the butcher, as he brandished his blades. It frustrated Wilfrid that Ned was treating this like a game, like he wasn’t a threat.

The brute of a man suddenly charged at Wilfrid with a speed that didn’t suit his build.

Wilfrid watched the butcher. He knew he was too slow and unfit to hit Ned to defeat him with speed. So he tried patience instead.

The butcher was upon him in an instant. His arms were fast as whips. He swung the blades from his sides - like a crab's pincer. It seemed that Ned was underestimating WIlfrid too much. He was wasting a lot of precious milliseconds on those wide swings of his. While he was certainly much faster than Wilfrid, his blades were no more than ten inches in length, and he had chosen the most time consuming arc of movement possible.

Wilfrid bent his knees slightly, lowered his head, and arched his back. He pulled the pitchfork back, and waited... And waited... And waited...

-FIRE!-

The five foot farming tool far exceeded the reach of Ned’s knives. WIlfrid's muscles bulged from the amount of strength he placed in his thrust. The blunt prongs slammed into their target like a harpoon. The force of the blow numbed Wilfrid’s hands - it felt like he had just stabbed a slab of concrete. His foe slumped over in pain. It was a close call. Wilfrid saw in peripheral vision that Ned’s blades were less than an inch from disembowelling him before he struck the butcher.

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“ARGH!” Ned yelped. “That fuckin’ hurt! Ya little shit!” He roared at Wilfrid.

Wilfrid inspected the tip of his weapon’s spikes. As he thought... He saw a thick wine-coloured liquid cover about an inch of the tips. It seemed their fight was far from over.

While temporarily distracted, the butcher charged.

Wilfrid noticed too late, and was slammed onto the ground. Ned’s face now hovered over his own. His once gleeful expression was now replaced with a vengeful rage.

“I gonna fuckin cut ya Willy!” He spat. Wilfrid was unsure whether he meant him , or the thing in between his thighs. Either way, it didn’t bode well for him.  

The butcher had dropped his knives when he crouched in pain. So, with no weapon but his own hands, be proceeded to pummel Wilfrid into oblivion. It reminded Wilfrid of his run-ins with the school bully.

Wilfrid’s face burned at the rapid swelling that took place. He felt his nose shatter from what felt like a jack-hammer. He could no longer see, his eyelids inflated and his pupils were flooded with tears. His lip busted several times over.

His fighting spirit abandoned him, and his consciousness began to fade from existence. As the flurry of punches continued to rain down on his, he embraced death. It was actually surprisingly calm, just like going to sleep after a hard day of work.

*BANG*

The onslaught suddenly stopped. Wilfrid returned to reality and opened his eyes, or at least tried to. His eyes had swelled too much to truly see. All they could muster was a sliver of blurry colours. Even without his vision, Wilfrid could tell Ned was still on top of him, due to his great weight, but for some reason he had stopped moving.

Deciding not to waste this opportunity, Wilfrid mustered whatever strength he had left and threw the butcher off himself.

In a panic, he searched the ground for something to finish of his foe. With his eyes almost completely useless he had no choice but to rely on nothing but his sense of touch.

He felt something hard and cool kiss his fingertips. He gripped the object and groaned at his stupidity. His hand now bled freely, from gripping the knife's blade too tightly. With no time to ponder his idiocy, he searched for the blades handle.

It took less than a second for Wilfrid to now have the knife positioned correctly in his hand. He scanned his surroundings and found the blurry blob that was Ned the butcher. He spat out the blood and phlegm that had been gathering in his mouth, and crawled.

He was now hunched over Ned’s motionless, but still breathing, body. Using the last drops of adrenaline he had left, he plunged the blade into Ned’s bulbous stomach. And again… Add again…

Lost in the hot passion of the moment, Wilfrid continued to butcher the butcher. The feeling and sound of the blade sliding through Ned’s stomach, made Wilfrid’s stomach churn.

After about the eighteen strike, the body suddenly vanished from existence. In its stead was now a hazy blue fog, that enveloped Wilfrid. His skin seemed to soak up the strange vapour like a sponge.

It felt awesome, simply awesome. It was like being injected with steroids and heroin at the same time, or at least, WIlfrid imagined the feelings would be similar. He felt his body become, stronger, lighter, and weirdly smarter. He also felt less hungry, which was an odd side effect.

“Wilfrid… Son, can you hear me?” Asked a gruff voice.

“D-dad?” Wilfrid choked, barely able to speak with his inflated lips and fluid filled mouth.

“That’s right, son. It’s your ol’ dad. Jesus! You look like shit!” His father cried.

“Fweel ‘ike, it be ‘onest…”

“Let’s be gettin’ you out of here. More of those bastards will be showin’ up; I reckon!”

“Who?”

“No time to explain! Can you stand?” His father asked.

Wilfrid slowly got to his feet, his legs buckled, and he immediately feel back to the icy ground.

“Shit!” His father cursed. “Okay-”

Wilfrid suddenly felt a great strength lift him from the ground. He was awestruck. His father had always been a strong man, but not strong enough to lift his eighteen stone self.

Wilfrid became even more stupefied as he laid upon his dad’s shoulder, and felt him begin to jog.

He laid motionlessly on his father’s broad shoulder, in an attempt to be less of a burden. In the distance, he could once again hear the sound of a chorus of angry voices.

“Fuck!” His father cursed, again.

WIlfrid heard what sounded like his dad opening his house's front door. Without pausing for a second, he continued to run through the house, making his way down to the cellar.

In the dark cellar of the Wilton Wine’s household, was a secret hatch, that lead to an underground room. Wilfrid was confused when he heard his father open something that sounded like a door of some kind. No one apart from his father, knew this underground bunker existed.

Wilfrid bounced up and and down slightly, as his dad carried him down some foreign stairs. They creaked loudly, like they’d break at any second. The rocking of the steps stopped. He felt his father take hold of him in his powerful hands and place him on the ground.

“Stay here, son. There’s plenty of food, water, an' medicine for ya.” His father told him, in a sweet voice that didn't suit him.

“W-wh-where am a da'?” Wilfrid croaked.

“You’re safe, my boy. I’ve to go now, I’ll see you later.”

“B-bu-”

“Shhh, son. Promise me you’ll stay here until you run out of water.” His father interjected

“But…”

“Promise me!” He demanded.

“... I pwomise, dad.”

“That’s a good boy… I’ve got to go now. I’ll see ya later” Wilfrid felt his father’s presence begin to disappear.

“Dad!” Wilfrid squeaked.

“Get some rest, Willy. I'l be back by the time you wake up... I love you.”

Wilfrid heard his father reclimb the rocky steps, and bolt it shut. That was the first time he ever heard his father say those words...

Wilfrid tried to get to his feet, but failed miserably . As he laid on the ground, he decided to obey his dad’s orders, and get some rest.

The tension in Wilfrid’s body began to vanish. All that was eventually left were warm aches, and blissful dreams..