George lifted his head just enough to see the gleaming light shine through onto him. He was free. For the first time in his life, he felt freedom run through his veins and blanket him in comfort. He lifted himself from the body below him, and walked through the door.
George took in the fresh city air, and absorbed his surroundings. He recognized an office building towering to his right. He was on 5th and Square Street. He knew San Francisco as if he had made it. The sprawling streets to the left were desolate, not a single person was out. He glimpsed back toward the door, and made his way to close it. After all, he wasn't going to call the police. George had no fear of dying, and had no fear of killing those who get in his way of dying.
He started walking towards the west, one slow step at a time. He hoped nobody would pass him because he was covered in blood. It trickled from an open wound on his side. His once white dress shoes were splattered in the red concoction, making it look like something a Goth would wear. He laughed at himself. He had been in there for 24 hours straight and didn't give a shit when he got out of it all. He thought it was all silly. A child's game. He remembered when he was a child, seeing the television report bloody murder once again. Jigsaw's infamous lair found! It had blasted the cover of People Magazine. Pictures of John Kramer were everywhere. He was dead now. And that was 25 years ago.
George flicked the light on in his grungy cheap ass apartment. He opened the door to the fridge and grabbed a cold Cerveza and a slice of pineapple pizza. He slouched down on the couch and turned on the television. More bullshit from the Global News Network, more bullshit… Pictures of melting glaciers passed by, only marking the beginning of what has become global warming. Ever since the Transamerica Pyramid toppled in the earthquake, he had never been the same. He lost his friends. For him, it was hard to find the right match of people to be friends with. They all had worked with him in real-estate on the 7th floor. He was angered that he didn't die with them. He was being lazy through it all. He called in sick, just because he wanted to find some slut for the day, and hang around doing nothing. Then it happened. He was in his apartment when it happened. The beer in his pitcher began rocking slowly, than pictures started falling. His wall cracked, revealing his neighbors apartment, he heard infants screaming. He began yelling for help. Glass flew out of the cabinets shattering upon the floor. He grabbed for anything. But then he went blank.
All he remembered was waking up.