It had been a rather eventful night, and I had played a major role in it. One man was murdered, and another was killed for the act of it. I had killed a fellow man. I had executed justice. But was it justice to take life away from a person? Does that make me any different from what he had done?

I opened the door to my apartment. When I glanced at the handle, however, it was broken. I had applied too much force.

I didn't even bother removing my shoes. I just wanted to fall asleep and forget what had happened.

I tossed and turned on my bed, waiting to fall asleep, but couldn't. The memory of the scene was vivid in my mind; it was to the point that I felt the same as I had then—I could see his blue pupils glaring into the depths of my soul. 

As I sat up, I felt that my right hand was still cold, although it had been under the blanket.

What I had done was right, though. I knew it with utmost certainty—for if I hadn’t, then he wouldn't have stopped with the death of one; many would’ve had to pay the price of my neglect. I had done a favour to society—purging its evil for the betterment of the rest. At least I think so.

At last, I decided to busy myself with something – no, anything else.

The night was anew, and there wasn't a noise to be heard. I was used to this stillness, but it felt emptier than usual; even my thoughts had given way to it.

The howl of a lone dog then reached my ears – its voice calling upon another of its kind. I stood there for a moment, half-expecting another from one of its companions. Nothing happened. I went on with what I had been thinking.

But a question still dug into me: Why had that man, Harold, turned into that?

Perhaps even I had such evil within me. My finger twitched, and it got cut on the clock I had been mending. It bled a dark red, almost blackish hue of blood in contrast to that of the victim's. I ruled it to be due to the lack of lighting in my apartment.

The clock ticked at the same beat as the knife had: up, down, up, down—I still couldn't get that out of my head. 

Outside, the moon shone, its rays illuminating the streets with an eerie, bright glow.

The wind rustled against the window and threw it open.

As I looked outside one last time before I closed the window, I thought I saw something move in the corner of my eye. It was a fly. Without a thought, I swatted it away, killing it in the process. It isn't just humans who are feeble, is it?