Down the hole, Jack Rabbit.

“Another day, another death. When will it stop? Never?” Read the headline of the 6 o’clock news Ben sat at home, lazily stretched out across his two seater sofa as the flatscreen T.V. flickered dimly across the pale, dark room. Living alone had its perks, safety not being one of them. But what was safe these days? For as long as he could remember there was always something going wrong in his home town of Oak Valley. As far as he was concerned, the place had seen it all. Corrupt police? Done it. Gang wars? Been there. Town governors on Mob payrolls? Definitely more than once. Still, no one did a thing. It was as if the town itself was sold to the highest bidding King Pin for laughs. He would reach for the remote, turning the T.V. off for the night as his head fell back against the sofa’s headrest. His Hazel-Blue eyes would slowly fall shut, finally succumbing to the tiresome night as he would release a gentle sigh from his lungs. Falling for the dark, soundless space around him, Ben would doze off, falling asleep within minutes of his heavy eyelids closing. What only seemed like minutes later, was a heavy banging against his door. It sounded like an ungodly fist whaling against the timber body. Ben jumped to his senses and looked around, sweating slightly as he got up to answer the door. Unlocking the door and sliding the chain off, he’d slowly open it. Within seconds his door was pushed in and he was thrown backwards onto the floor. As he looked up from the rough carpet, he could see the silhouette of three large men, each wielding some sort of bat, standing above him. Scrambling backwards, he would find himself hard pressed against the wall, opposite the hallway that lead to his bedroom. His breathing picked up, his subtle sweat seemed like a waterfall gushing down his face now. The three men walked further into his apartment, two siding off to clearly thieve all they could, while the third closed in on Ben. Smacking the bat against the palm of his hand, the man would only give off a rough, prickled chuckle before raising his bat. The last thing he heard was the crashing of some bowls against the ground and the hefty grunt of the man above him, swinging the bat, before nothing... Nothing but darkness.