He could feel the cold steel in his pocket, a long slender blade of the
most deadly kind.  He stroked it slighty, lovingly, feeling the smooth
steel knowing of the impossible sharpness of it's edge.  He'd been
making the knife for years, designing in his mind a simple but
functional device and then making it from raw steel and uncut wood.  The
making had been easy, the sharpening took months, every waking minute
sharpening the edge using stones so fine that towards the end glass
became the stone.  The impossible edge, never stopping,  two points in
space moving towards each other but never meeting.  Until tonight it
had never been sharp enough, he would test it on himself to see, long
cat scratches down his arms and legs from this knife.  He loved the
feeling and could imagine going much deeper with the knife, could see
the skin parting and light on places best left dark, he could feel the
blade scrape across the bone leaving little furrows and curls as if
carving wood, but this knife wasn't for him.
  The rain was a steady drizzle, light fog causing eerie reflections and
stranger shapes.  His long dark coat covering his dark shirt and darker
pants.  He was darkness incarnate,  the only light within him was the
gleam of a searching eye.   Brightness seemed to ignore if not outright
avoid his form, only the shadows welcomed him.
  The clouds grew thicker, the cold was eating its way to his bones, but
he didn't care.  He was waiting and searching.  All he saw was silence
and all he heard was darkness, but he knew he wasn't wrong.  He caressed
his blade some more and smiled to himself, she was coming.
  Far down the street was movement, footsteps echoing off empty walls.
With time as his friend, he waited.  Closer and closer she walked until she
walked in front of his waiting form, he was close enough to touch
her, and she passed.  He glided out, a shapeless silent form making no
sound, hatred fogging his vision and anticipation spliting his brain.  He
wanted to laugh, wanted to see her scared face, wanted to hear the scream
that would warm his darkened soul, but he followed getting closer and
closer with each step.  She walked faster, never seeing him but somehow
knowing.  Closer and closer until his aura clashed with hers.  She
turned, her mouth open for a desperate cry.  His knife, allways in hand,
lashed out through his coat.
  The rain kept up its steady downpour.  He walked slowly, his hand
running over the blade again and again. He felt it's sharpness, felt
it's smoothness, felt it's wetness.  He smiled to himself and screamed
to the world.  He was alive again.