John sat in his dark apartment, staring at his hand. He half expected it to jump up and reach for his own throat. He had stayed as far away as possible from everyone he could, scared that he was going to kill someone. John started to shake. He couldn't take it anymore, knowing his mind wasn't even his any more, that it was being controlled by a dead man's thirst for death. He couldn't go through life scared of human touch, too afraid to go near any one.

John screamed as he stabbed the knife through his right hand.