"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more..." -William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Bowling. It's such an innocent sport, a game for young and old alike. The goal is to knock over as many pins as possible. Ten pins. I like to think of my work as bowling. Not my job that I get paid for, I could care less about that line of work, but the employment I have given myself. It's always bowling alleys where I pick my precious pins. Ten pins. Ten little players in my game.

No one ever thinks about the pins in bowling. No. No, no, no, no, no. It's all about the ball. It's all about what the ball does to these pins. The ball must be thrown just right to hit them, topple the pins over in a way that lets them fall onto one another, letting them fall like dominos, one being the cause of downfall for another. The ball is the trigger. The pins are the ones that truly ruin themselves. I like to think of myself as a bowling ball.

I haven't picked out victims in a while. It's been years since I last played my game. It was such a fun game. A perfect game. Those little pins knocked one another over until none of them were left. Could I recreate a perfect game? Could I pick perfect little pins that would knock each other over?

My eyes dance across the bowling alley. It's surrounded by people. I pull out a camera from my bag, a little polaroid I have been using since I started my little game. Film has been harder to come by over the years, getting more and more expensive. I considered switching to digital, but that felt like it would ruin my game. My finger strokes the camera gently. No one notices me. Who would? I'm practically invisible here. I come every week, sit at the same table, watch the lanes from a perfect vantage point. I can see who comes in and out, pick my subjects.

Lane Four is full of noise, a child's birthday party. Too young. I don't play with children. They can't play my game correctly. What about Lane Seven? No, they're a family. Families are predictable. The parents would willingly sacrifice anything to save the children, who would just cry at seeing their parents demise. Lane Twelve? Maybe. They show potential. I lift my camera and carefully take pictures of the different people. Six girls and four boys. They seem to be friends, but there are times they are faking their affections with some of the group, while there are other times where affections seem almost obsessive. I put the pictures down carefully, keeping them away from the sight of any of any potential wandering eyes. I turn my attention to other lanes. Lane Fifteen? Professional bowlers. The look of focus they have on their face makes me think they are just professional with one another, no affections. They would just be in the game for themselves. Boring. Predictable. Not worth the effort. Lane Twenty is another birthday party. Too young, once again. That leaves my victims being Lane Twelve by default.

I'll have to follow them from the alley, study their schedules and movements. I'll have to move from bowling to chess. I'll have to determine their movements, place each piece where I want them. I smile. I'm good at chess. I already have some ideas of how my board could be set up just by watching interactions. I need to wait until they leave, follow them home so I can see where they all live. I feel my heart speed up. I have a new chase. I have a new game.

I don't remember when I started to like playing these games so much. It might have started with my first kill. It might have started before. I remember my first kill. She was quite pretty. She was smiling at me, trusting me, as I led her to where I kept my games. So trusting. So naive. She didn't want to play my game, though. She had seemed so excited, but that changed in a single moment. I can still feel her blood rushing down my fingers. It was exhilarating. I like recreating that feeling. I like these games. I'm sure they like them too. Somewhere.

They're getting up, leaving. A pair of boys are giving one another high fives. One of them must be the winner. Interesting. I put my camera back in my bag and pack up as they return the rental shoes. I have to be careful if I'm going to follow them.

They take two cars, I notice. I can only follow one. Five in each car. There is no advantage for me to follow on car versus the other. I might as well follow the car that is parked closer to me, so I can follow them without being noticed as easily. That one happens to be a large black truck.

I follow them. The driver drops them off at five different houses. They all live in nice neighborhoods, though none of them are gated. How fortunate. They all live within ten minutes of each other. That's fortunate. I carefully write down each of the address, making sure not to be noticed by the driver, staying back just far enough to not be notice. I smile. This is almost too perfect. I just need to figure out where the last five live. If I follow these five around, I'm sure I can find out where the other five live. It's almost too easy. I just need to figure out who is connected to who. I need to discover how they truly feel.

I look at the pictures I have collected of my little bowling pins. I feel excited. I can spend the next six months watching these subjects before I put them into my game. That should give me enough time to set up my new games. Ten victims. Ten bowling pins. One bowling ball. One me. I'm ready.

I'm so excited for this story and I hope you are all as excited to read it as I am to write it! Please let me know what y'all think!