The thought of being followed, the thought of being chased was beyond all doubt why I started to act. Walking back the road I had come I wanted to reconcile the doomed affair. We were supposed to meet like two of a kind but a yawning chasm between us seemed to change the facts. The hunter became the hunted. The prey became the hunter. It will be the stalker who will fall in the trap. Steps came up from behind, shudders went down my spine. Blood rushed into my brain, reversed, fog came up, he tried to escape but I never lost his scent. Cornered, hunter and prey. Psycho trap. When I caught his stare, vicious and insane, then I knew he was the man who hunted me. He spoke of his life as if it did not exist, borrowed for a period only known to me. He told me how he was led astray, he was conquered by death. He thought it was fate, but it was not death, it was the fear of death. Always committed to suicide. Joy? He never had any, never. Because of his meaning of death, life, his own was a lie. Failed, that is why he kills. For me it was too late to escape. Trapped, that is why I had to die.