Josh had jumped on a bus that was supposed to send him straight to the Academy of English Writing and Literature; a well renowned school that was famous for their upbringing of some great poets and play wrights. As the bus travelled slowly, something happened - something odd. The other people didn't seem to notice it but it was there. Something malicious and evil. The bus turned and sped up, sailing straight into a fuel depot; a one way ticket to hell, at least for a normal person. The bus crashed, exploding upon impact and destroying the depot, but more importantly killing everyone on board. The twisted, smouldering skeleton that was the bus lay there, and strewn around it were charred corpses. To the side of one, a pair of shattered and burnt glasses, and a small dice. 

Josh's head was swimming, filled with odd shapes and colours that could only be described as a bad trip. Everything smelt of smoke and burning oil mixed with scorched flesh. Standing up and casting the images aside, he saw the scene. Destruction - pure destruction. In his hand a small, blue dice with 20 sides; except the only numbers were the 1 and 20, with the rest blank. Sirens were roaring, at least they sounded like they were roaring. Blaring might have been the better word, but his head hurt and his mind couldn't distinguish the two. Police tape surrounded the area and people had crowded around it. So many dead - probably a suicide attack. There hadn't been any previous news of suicide attacks in Avernale, and certainly not in England. Maybe this was a war declaration. Who knew. All he knew however was that he felt something missing; like someone took tweezers and plucked a piece of his mind away. He was headed for the Academy, and then the bus turned off. He felt strange and that was it. 

Taking the dice he rolled it across the floor, it landing on the 1. Instantly his head began to ache and images of death flowed through it. The bus. The bus turned and ploughed straight into the fuel depot. Did the driver even care? At least 20 bodies were around. Some might have been taken away, others not in view. His lungs burnt and the memory kept repeating. Fire licked at the ground and the corpses and the bus. Police moved into the area and looked it over. everything went so fast. Josh took the dice again, and rolled a 20. His lungs were filled with clean air and the memory stopped repeating in a painful fashion with no control, but instead one where he was in control. That was right, he got on the bus and the driver killed everyone. Was it everyone? Across the road a body lay, with broken glasses and a scorched D20 resting on the 1. Josh keeled over, collapsed and sat there staring. How? How could he be dead? HOW? This wasn't supposed to happen. He was going to live a successful life as an author and full-fill his dreams. How could he die? how...?