William's piercing blue eyes shot open as the dream took a turn he was unwilling to watch. For the past several nights he had, had the same recurring dream, the night he had staked his mother. He had thought that the remorse fled days ago, but apparently his mind was still uncomfortable with it. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers. He sat up in the dank cave, brushing dirt from his red-brown hair. Angelus and Dru had thrown him out yesterday, off to fend for himself.

"Bloody git! Stole my girl, leaves me to die. One day that ponce is going to get what he deserves." he muttered to himself as he walked out the of the cave. He sniffed the air. The smell of rain close at hand lingered in the heavy air. Dark clouds ruled the skies. The silence enveloped everything. A shrill train whistle suddenly broke through the grey morning.

William smiled slyly as the train thundered by. As soon as it had passed he jumped down into the tracks. Kneeling down, he ran his hands over the cold steel. He reached his hands down and tugged on a railway spike. It took several minutes of tugging, but eventually the spike came out, leaving a hole. He tested the end of the spike, cutting his thumb on it. This would fetch a fair price. He smiled wickedly, blue eyes flashing. He hid the spike in his coat and strode into town, thankful for the cover of the clouds.

Rain began to pour.

The town was quiet and peaceful. The morning had just begun, only a few people were to be found moving about the streets. The bums were out on their corners, waiting for the bustle to begin so they could eat. A drunkard already wobbled toward the bar to get his morning drink. William Pratt walked briskly toward the bar as well. He sat down on a stool in front of the bartender, "Something strong. I just want to forget." He called, dejected. He pulled out a little work book, and began to write. The man set a glass in front of him, and in one gulp, William downed the glass and set it back with the tinkle of glass against wood. He continued writing.

Brushing his hand against his nose, he looked up at the bartender, "Another glass," he ordered, and the bartender obliged, setting another glass of the sparkling liquid in front of him. William mumbled something under his breath, then set the book on the bar. He looked up at the bartender, "Be honest," he drained the glass, then continued, "How does this sound?" He cleared his throat then began reading,

"What a wonderful time we had, oh me and my mum,

the days we spent laughing

singing together

Oh what songs you sung to me

You loved me, you did, but then

I changed, and you changed and we all changed

I could do nothing

Now it keeps me up at night,

The thought of what I did to you,

it makes me sick to think about it, why?

Why did I do that?

What a wanton woman you were,

Oh my mum.

My mum

My mum

My mum."

He trailed off and looked at the bartender, "That one is called The Wanton Folly of Me Mum. Now be honest. How was it?" The bartender looked at him, studying the man that had drunk two mugs of the strongest drink in his bar, the man who should be lying dead now because that stuff kills, and he thought,

"Now honest you say?" he asked, just to be sure. William nodded, and rubbed his eyes with two fingers. The bartender took a breath, "Well sir, to be perfectly honest," he paused again, "I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than to hear that awful stuff." William was shocked, he looked up at the man who had just insulted him in the worst way,

"Oh really?" he asked in a dangerous tone. The bartender stepped back a pace, he held up his hands,

"I meant no offense sir!" William stood up so quickly he knocked his stool over,

"Sadly, my good man, you caused great offense." He pulled out the railway spike, and leaped over the bar, cornering the man in his own bar. "Now sir, this will be the last thing you ever see." His face changed and he lunged forward, jamming the spike in the bartender's head, sending blood spewing across William's face and the wall behind him. He pulled the spike out of the bartender's head and he crumpled to the floor. William wiped his hands on his white shirt, staining it red. William licked his lips, relishing the taste of blood on his tongue. He looked at the blood on the wall behind where the man's head used to be, and then down at the body again, staring at the whole and the bits of bone that surrounded the wound.

He knelt down and turned the bartender over, examining him, debating whether or not he was going to eat him. He shook his head, the rush of killing someone with a railway spike was much more entertaining then just biting them and draining them dry. He leaped over the bar again, leaving the man dead on the floor, seeping blood all over the corner. William cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. The drunkard from outside walked in, the door creaking as he pushed it open, while he was leaning heavily on one side. He looked at William, surveying his appearance, his flyaway hair and his blood stained face and hands, and his shirt, that was once white and was now covered in red blood.

"Hey mate, you got any money?" the man slurred at William, holding his hands out for spare change. William shook his head and shoved past the drunkard, flinging the doors open. Looking out toward the street that was just moments ago empty, but was now bustling, his gaze shifted between every person that now walked down the streets of the little town. The drunk man came up behind William, "Hey mate, what's your name?" he asked, his breath stunk like a gutter,

"William." he replied, with out even thinking about it.

"Hey, hey William? What do you wanna do today?" The unshaven man asked louder, he clutched William's shoulder. The touch brought William out of his deep thoughts. He turned so fast that he knocked the man's hand off his shoulder, and made him stumble backward. William poised the spike above the man's heart,

"Not William, Spike." he viciously, before he plunged the spike into the mans, heart.

Warm blood flowed out of the wound and the man was stunned, screaming he fell to the floor, as his life force bled out of the gaping wound. He lay writhing on the floor, like a fish out of water. Spike put a leg on either side of the man and stabbed him again, more blood, more pain. He pulled the spike out and left the man, dying on the floor. Blood was splattered on his jacket and white shirt. He stepped outside, looking at the people passing and the spike he held in his hand, "Not William, not ever ever again, Spike." he told himself.