I see it in their eyes. It flickers for some slowly, beautifully; rolling like the low tide. Others, well, they are the dangerous ones. It's a scale of one to ten, you see. Little, innocent children, they make up the ones and twos. Murderers are closer to six, This one, he was a twelve. There was no evidence of hostility or anger apparent to anyone else; just me. I saw it. It wasn't light, nor was it darkness. It was blinding, seething red. Blood red. Not common, yet not frightening to me, but odd. Of course, I was red too, but he needn't know.
