Was is possible for someone to fall asleep while walking? If so, Isam was pretty sure he was capable of it. Today wasn't near as bad as some, where he would let himself get so tired that he would begin to hear things. He knew, however, that that stage was right around the corner if he didn't rest. But every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he heard screaming. He would see blood and the faces of the people that died because of him. He would wake up in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, because he could hear them begging him for their life back. Did Isam believe in ghosts? Sometimes, he was sure he did. 

His steady steps on the gravel was just about the only man made sound he could hear. Not many people were up at this time of day, with the sun only just now peaking over the landscape. Isam was a man that liked his space, but that didn't mean he didn't like people. He often found that people were the best distraction from himself. If he could keep his mind busy, it wouldn't torment him as much. If he really got involved, sometimes it wouldn't torment him at all. 

He looked down at his boots as he walked. The same boots he wore almost every day. Isam wasn't too into fashion. He usually wore cargo pants, like the grey ones he had on today, and dull colors shirts. The black tank top he wore now showed off a few of the scars that graced his arms, not that he particularly cared. His curly hair was left down, the unruly black creature almost reaching his shoulders. When he found the time to brush it, it would actually take on a silky texture, but Isam rarely had time to tame his hair. The closest he would come would be putting it up in a pony tail. 

Isam was halfway between sleep and awake when he was hit by something. Someone. He was almost knocked off his feet, being taken by surprise. Isam wasn't a tall man, but he was solid. He staggered back a couple steps and looked up to see who had ran into him. It was a women; he was pretty sure he had seen her around before, but he couldn't place a name with her. She was pretty. Pretty rude. 

"Sorry," Isam said, his voice thickly accented. He didn't have enough fight in him to argue his case. "I'll do better next time." The way he delivered the last line made it sound very insincere; sarcastic almost. He bent over to pick up his house keys, which had fallen out of his pocket when she ran into him, and stuffed them back into his jacket.