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Description
Alone. Brooding. Veiled in a shuttered shack of a building. He was curled in the corning, knees to his chest and head in hands. Peeking through his unwashed hands was his eye, crazed and wild, flicking about, searching for the monsters that he knew lay not out there, but behind his heavy lids. What was that? Manically, he tried to shove himself farther and farther into the corner, whimpering like an injured animal. His hand scrambled next to him, searching for something. Anything. It landed upon a shard of glass. It felt wet. Why did it feel wet? His eyes crept slowly down, afraid of what he would see grasped in his hand, as if he doubted that it was really a piece of glass anymore. Blood now dripped across the shattered pane. His own blood. What relief that notion brought was ripped from his mind when he saw his reflection. Or more, what was behind him. A looming black shape, twisted and horrible, bearing down on him. Like lightning he struck out, wrenching the makeshift blade into the thing's gut, deepening his own lacerations with the tension in his grip. It fell to its knees before him and spoke but one last time.

I'm sorry.

It fell forward onto him, but he was paralyzed, rendered immobile by the voice that came from it. He knew the voice. He had heard it often and kept him from the dark places, from here, many times in the past. She rested now upon his lap. Cold. Dead. Peaceful. And he envied her.

Description
Alone. Brooding. Veiled in a shuttered shack of a building. He was curled in the corning, knees to his chest and head in hands. Peeking through his unwashed hands was his eye, crazed and wild, flicking about, searching for the monsters that he knew lay not out there, but behind his heavy lids. What was that? Manically, he tried to shove himself farther and farther into the corner, whimpering like an injured animal. His hand scrambled next to him, searching for something. Anything. It landed upon a shard of glass. It felt wet. Why did it feel wet? His eyes crept slowly down, afraid of what he would see grasped in his hand, as if he doubted that it was really a piece of glass anymore. Blood now dripped across the shattered pane. His own blood. What relief that notion brought was ripped from his mind when he saw his reflection. Or more, what was behind him. A looming black shape, twisted and horrible, bearing down on him. Like lightning he struck out, wrenching the makeshift blade into the thing's gut, deepening his own lacerations with the tension in his grip. It fell to its knees before him and spoke but one last time.

I'm sorry.

It fell forward onto him, but he was paralyzed, rendered immobile by the voice that came from it. He knew the voice. He had heard it often and kept him from the dark places, from here, many times in the past. She rested now upon his lap. Cold. Dead. Peaceful. And he envied her.