AN: This story'sone of myolder ones, and thus is in dire need of editing.

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"What have you done?"

That voice, all those voices, they still haunted him even now as he stood at the edge of the bridge and looked out over the quiet town below.

The last light of day cast a soft blood-red glow on his stony features, almost making him appear life like; but the only glow of life in his eyes came from the final rays of the dying sun.

He stood so still it was hard to know if he was real or just a mirage. It was hard to imagine him having his own consciousness. His face was flawless, but cold and unanimated. He looked younger than his eighteen years, especially with his spiky golden hair falling in his steely, unblinking eyes. And yet, he gave off and air of being older than time by the way he carried himself.

Being in his presence was somewhat unnerving, like meeting death itselfwhile still living.

He stood on the train tracks without fear, without any seeming emotion. On the physical plane he looked the part of the stereotypical runaway. His leather jacket had molded like a glove to fit his frame, and his backpack seemed to belong where it hung from his left shoulder.

A whistle from the train blew a ways down the track and he finally looked up from his stare at the town. He rarely ever stopped moving for more than a few minutes, but he'd been standing on the overpass for at least a quarter hour.

He calmly began to walk on the railroad ties towards the other side of the ravine. He never lowered his gaze below the horizon, even though if he slipped and fell through the space between the ties he would surely die. He never slipped, or took an unsure step. He made it safely to the end of the bridge and stepped off the tracks, heading down the side of the ravine towards the innocent town laying in wait of his coming.