Sherman was looking at Dramstin down in the arena. The man he spent five years catching. The person who killed countless of people is someone he is supposed to cheer on for the better of Saltorian. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to even smile. Every fiber of his being told him to hope that Delilah would get to her feet again and face him. He would just look down upon the arena and remember the first day he finally got to talk to him.
"Why did you do it?" Sherman asked. Dramstin was sitting in his cell with a big smile on his face. He would stand up and walk toward the glass, reading the message as he walked.
"What's it to you?" Dramstin asked with a smile. Sherman would bite his lower lip in annoyance. He wanted to pull out his gun. Shoot the monster in front of him.
"Why did you kill so many people?" Sherman asked.
"Let me ask you something, detective." Dramstin would spin around, slamming his back against the glass, moving his head slightly to give Sherman an over-the-shoulder look.
"Have you ever wanted someone's attention?" He asked
At that moment, Sherman knew that this man, this demon known as Dramstin Booz was not sane in any way. Dramstin's only reason for the killings was the attention it would draw to him, making a game out of siblings' death, invading a private party, and killing a whole concert hall. All of it was for the sole reason of having people look at him. Dramstin was gluttony incarnate. Someone who would swallow the sun if it meant that he would shine brighter. The lowest of the low. The very vision of the darkest of humanity.
Delilah was lying on the ground, listening to the music playing off Dramstin's person. She was bleeding from her body, and her vision was getting blurry. She looked up upon the man who had hurt her and saw him spreading out his arms, basking in the glory, basking in the limelight. Delilah's view was getting blurry as her hand slowly slid over the ground, feeling for anything. She would place her hand against the ground and softly lift it, hitting down on the ground. She would keep her eyes on Dramstin as she kept repeatedly hitting the ground.
"You are not music!" Delilah thought in a rage.
"See, dear. She picked up your guitar." A woman said. A young girl would sit in a chair, strumming some guitar strings. The sound coming from the instrument would not be in tune, nor would it sound well, but the girl would have a big smile on her face. The girl's short pink hair waved from side to side.
"Ah, maybe we got another musician in the family." The man said with a warm smile. He walked over, ruffling Delilah's hair with his hand.
"You just keep at it, short stuff." He said, booping her nose. The little girl would look at the man with sparkling eyes. This man, her dad, was everything to her. A low-standing musician and street performer. His voice would always calm her down, and his music would always make her smile. The girl's red eye would look down at the large guitar in her embrace. Her mom had pink hair like the daughter, and her dad had rough purplish hair. The man sat down and started to play a family tune—a calm guitar melody echoing around them.
"What's for dinner?" He asked.
"Well, we will be having some herb soup today." The mom said, walking to the other side of their small apartment. The housing itself was a one-room apartment where all three of them lived tightly in both physical but also emotional sense.
"Ah, my favorite." He said, playing his instrument with a warm smile on his face. Delilah would look up at the man as he would grin.
"What you staring at?" He asked.
"What you staring at!" The girl repeated back, leaping at him.
"Wow!" He laughed as he caught her, both of them rolling down into the couch. Delilah would giggle as she hugged her father.
