#killoftheday

Josh always made a concerted effort to not go outside when the games came to town. Hell, everyone did. Unless you were going to the bars, you stayed inside, locked the doors and windows, cracked open a beer and tried your damnedest to relax. And if you were going to the bars, you went long before they let the players loose.

And tonight was no different. 7 o'clock came around, the bell sounded, and he went through the routine. It was 15 minutes later that he realized  he had forgotten to move his car. The street cleaners would show up at anytime after the games ended, and Josh really didn't want to get another ticket. The fines for third offenses on that kind of thing were the worst.

Besides, nothing was going to happen to him. This had happened 20 times over the past three years, and danger had never even come close to him. In the three years that the games had been a thing in Portland, no action had ever happened in his building. The closest kill to his apartment was the couple five doors down. He was gonna be fine as long as he hurried.

It wasn't until he had parked his car and gotten out that he saw the man in the orange jumpsuit sprinting towards him. Josh ran as fast as he could, panic audible in his breathing.

He was one door away from his building when the prisoner grabbed him by the leg, yanking the poor guy to the ground. He hit his head on the concrete. He was so terrified and confused that he didn't even feel the prisoner grab a tuft of his hair and lift his head up.

However, he most certainly felt it when his head came crashing down on the concrete a second time.

Not much went through Josh's head as it was being bashed against the sidewalk. He hadn't even started to come to terms with his own death when the prisoner slammed his boot in Josh's head, creating a dent that you could fit your fist in.