16:00 ~ The Railway Station

    The clattering doors of the train birthed him. His shining black shoe made contact with the platform. He moved slower than the gaggle of commuters around him, whose views were distorted by the puff of swirling steam from the engines. The stink of diesel and hissing came from under the train, like a rancid bog existed out of sight of the passengers. The coffee shop on the upper floor became like a castle tower with a balcony from which a king would command his childish train set.
    A long coat hung gracefully on his paper figure, flopping around his black trouser clad legs. Those who noticed his dashing appearance would be unable to see his facial features which were curtained under a wide hat. A very wide hat. This man was the Traveller.
    No one knew, or cared, about his origin, or his intentions for tonight. Looking around, he could see thousands of child like people. Excited. Elated. Exuberant. They were all going home. He picked up mixed signals from the crowds. Each child appeared to despise their current surroundings - the city - but would also go insane in the country. The peace would content itself by eating away at their very nature. The Traveller's nature and their nature did not seem so contrasting, nor clashing, for that matter, for they were all hunters.
    If this was true, why did the Traveller see the world so differently?
    'Damn!' he whispered. Everyone was carrying a case. The thought had crossed his mind to bring one, but at the time he laughed it off like an injury, or an insult. What the f**k would he have to do with a brief case?
    A minute passed, and the children transformed from hunters into cows. They grazed all day, took up space, and gave their milk to their calves. This image made the Traveller clutch his chest pocket for reassurance. He saw them gathering and giving in an endless cycle. Tonight they would give. They would give candy to any viable calf that knocked on their door with a costume and cheeky face.
    Now he was balanced again. The Traveller saw the Ying and Yang to these blurry cows. They were vicious not for themselves, but for others. The paradox pried a hole in his mind where hate once was. He wondered, for the literal millionth time, if there can ever be a world with a completely selfless act.
    Movement. That was the only thing right now that could stop him curling into a ball of questions.
    'Get the hell out,' he said, 'just move!'
    So he did. He danced like a fish through the remaining cows of the commute. The tail of his coat swished and his fin-like hands assisted with direction. Then he was birthed again - through the huge exit of the railway station onto the s**t-stained street.
    The phallic buildings were white against the navy sky. The road was but a canyon between them. The Traveller flew from pavement to pavement with his mind set on his destination. He was heading to the outskirts of the city. Quiet suburbs would be where he would find his prey. They would be exhausted from a night of trick or treating and should have hit a sugar low.
    This would be easy. He was a strong man - fit and stealthy - but who was he to be matched with for his prey? Who would be there guarding them. A babysitter, he imagined. After all, he knew where the parents would be.

    The subway trains and subway stations felt so small and menacing after already having visited the Railway Station in the city. The buses were unpleasant and jerky. The worker bees had stared at the Traveller, standing perfectly still in the crowded isle, as the violent coach buffalo billed its way to their homes.
    The Traveller imagined an apocalypse and wondered if the buses would still be running on that day. He imagined all of the piggies trotting home from their jobs on a bus, just so that they could be grilled into bacon in their homes.

    Now, the figure that was the Traveller was at a residence. He waited in the back garden on a swing tied to a tree. Any noise he made would alert them, so he did not swing. He just sat.
    The air was cold. Especially after being on several journeys in close contact with groups of hot-headed hunter-gatherers. Fifteen minutes on the subway had become an hour in his mind. Half an hour seemed more like four. The Traveller got the feeling that he still had reservations on some level, about what he was about to do. But it was too late. Very soon, a vibrating in his pocket would tell him that it was time.
    Until he got the signal, he would admire the streamers left over from the celebrations, examining their movement in the draughts of the evening, then strike.