Lorne had never been by himself before. Despite all the troubles he had faced, all the demons he had

fought, he had never found himself without anyone to turn to.

Not even he could comprehend the shock of the lifeless form before him.

There was grief, and there was wonder, but, most of all, there was loneliness.

The form still had traces of humanity, in its face, hair, and eyes. The rest of the body was smoking, severely

burned.

It lay, almost peaceful, in the middle of the degraded apartment floor.

Peculiarly, there was a puddle beneath it, as if water flowed from the charred shut pores scattered over the

wretched, unfeeling pile. A strange and insistent sound of dripping permeated the air,

as if a solitary drop of water was heaving itself throughout the

edifice. All else, save Lorne himself, remained silent. He sobbed, though it sounded like he was laughing.

He had never attended a funeral, and thus never learned how to mourn. Through his tears cut confusion.

How could it happen? Who would- who could have committed this dreadful, ghastly act? His thoughts were

answered by a creeping, featureless black figure behind him.

“You did this.”

He could feel its breath, sense its presence. He reached frantically into his pocket.

“You did this.”

The voice became louder, closer. With its skulking feet moved the walls; closer and closer to his body.

Lorne snatched a bottle of pills up and quickly unscrewed the cap.

“You did this.”

He took down two tablets, barely stopping himself from taking a third.

The creature was dispelled, but Lorne felt little relief.

Dropping to his knees, he attempted to echo his nemesis: “Y-you... I did this?”

The warped, steaming form before him did not budge. Realizing he was no more accompanied

on his knees than he would be on his feet, he mustered up the willpower to stand.

Still dazed, he stumbled into and swung open the backdoor of the room,

slamming it into the face of a not altogether fortuitous young man. Hitting the floor fast,

but getting up faster, it was clear this youth was here with a purpose.

Lorne, forgetting himself, reached out his hand in apology:

“Frat-Fraterno...? Is that y-”

“What was that noise?”

Fraterno roughly took the hand, and stared fiercely into Lorne's eyes. Fraterno's were like a lion's.

“I d- I don't know, it was j-just-”

“Where's my sister, you freak?” Suspicion burned in his eyes.

Lorne stuttered and shook, doing little to satisfy Fraterno's undying, angry curiosity. Lorne decided

to run. By some contingent miracle or simply by fate's decision, Fraterno's outstretched arm failed

to grasp the frantic Lorne. Sprinting towards the nearest window, Lorne kicked his feet hard

against the creaking floor, launching into little jumps. By the time Fraterno's scream,

one of heart shattering terror, filled the air, Lorne had already launched himself through the screen.

Landing atop a pile of detritus, Lorne scurried desperately to his feet and once more broke

into a sprint. He ran across the street, but Fraterno practically flew. A burning, screaming

personification of vengeance, he chanted:

“You killed her!”

Lorne looked behind him, spastic with fear, to see how much Fraterno had gained on him.

Lorne didn't know why he was running, but he knew that he had to. He knew if he dared stop, he'd

be torn apart in moments. He tossed his shaky voice at Fraterno: “I didn't do it! I didn't kill her,”

he huffed,

“please, I'd never - just please leave me alone!”

Fraterno kept right on chanting and chasing with, if at all affected, increased vigor.

He had been, quite clearly in his eyes, wronged by this wretched, drug addicted youth.

Lorne was, indeed, a wasted young man, but he was not an unhealthy one. Though thin,

his body had the tenacity to survive falls, lacerations,

and what seemed to be miles and miles of running.

His mind, however, is where this strength ended.


Since his boyhood, Lorne was prescribed a bottle of oddly colored pills.

Without them, the world would go mad. If

he went too long without ingesting them, terrible monsters would burst out of his imagination,

swim out of his every pore, leap out of every opening in his body.

When left unchecked, the monsters would commit terrible acts;

The type that most people only imagine in their frail minds.

One such monster was a black figure who, when asked to identify itself,

would calmly state “Dolores.”

Now it was running alongside Fraterno, and it mixed it's chant with his into an affirmation of

Lorne's rotten false sin.

One shouted with fury that Lorne killed his only sister, and the other confirmed with calm, haunting
authority that Lorne perpetrated the act.

Such an argument came near to convincing Lorne himself.

In the eyes of that poor, tormented soul, Fraterno was just as frightening a monster as Dolores. He could see the veins bursting out of his vengeful face, the eyes turning a fiery red,

and the skin losing its color.

Dolores calmly kept pace next to Fraterno, as if one could not exist without the other.

People, curious and excited by the happenings,

gathered behind the two and joined the chase themselves.

Lorne, hearing the extra footsteps, turned behind to see a mob of unspeakable horror.


The innocuous group of curious citizens was replaced almost immediately.

Skeletons, vampires, ghouls, and all manner of demons now gave chase to Lorne.

Their gait was collectively human-like, but their bodies were anything but.

One here was gray and diminutive, one there was blood red and gigantic,

one with fangs, another toothless. The streets, now a hunting ground,

seemed to dance along to the rhythm of the footsteps.

The buildings swayed this way and that,

and the ground seeming to open and close before poor Lorne's eyes.

Every member of this ludicrous evil carnival had one action in common, however:

fixing their glazed, unblinking eyes on Lorne, and chasing him inexhaustibly no matter what turn

he took. Leading the demonic army was Fraterno, now not even resembling a human being.

His skin was charred black, much like his sister's, and his eyes were fire red and pupil less.

Dolores was no longer running by his side, but now Lorne's. It chanted.

“You did this.”

Lorne, startled, tripped and fell violently to the floor.

He meekly reached his hand in his pocket for the pills, but Dolores firmly grabbed him by the arm.

“You did this.”

Lorne's body convulsed in a pathetic attempt to escape the grasp.

He could see the mob closing in on him, but they seemed to be moving slower.

“I did this.”

Lorne's body was as black now as Dolores. Featureless, unafraid, and alone. His killing of the girl

felt clear. The argument, the silence, and the fire.

“I did this.”

Lorne stepped forward toward the mob, which was now slowed down to a crawl.

Dolores was no longer beside Lorne.

He was truly by himself. There were, however, no tears this time. He realized he had done his

awful deed because he couldn't stand to be alone, but now he felt at peace with that same idea.

“I did this.”