Along the path, he strode. Hair normally cleanly swept back hung lightly over his eyes, unkempt from the walk, from the cold rain sinking to his skin. Sinking the way he felt he was now. Nothing held his gaze longer than a second but the ground beneath him. Like this, he couldn't know his destination was still so far away.

Destination. Ha, had he even one?

Eventually he came to a road. Stopping alongside it, he let a small sack drop from his shoulder to rest as he pondered which direction to follow. The break was well appreciated and very much needed; however, without the constant padding of his feet against the ground, a gap remained empty in his mind, allowing place for the evening's events to fill. Shaking away the sinister thoughts threatening to take a hold of him, he retrieved the sack at his feet and chose: north. The rain continued to pound down on him, almost making him long for the shelter of a passing car, or at least having a jacket. Then again, the water droplets streaming across his skin only matched his mood, the blank contemplation of not wondering if he really should have done what he did.

He blinked away the idea. No, the rain was good. Each drizzle prevented a tear, and every booming thunder led him one step further from returning to finish. Puddles on the street restrained his desire to flee in fear. The cold wind on his wet face reminded him constantly how inappropriately he had acted. Once more, his line of thought came to rest on that. No matter how he tried, the image wouldn't leave his mind.

Standing legs spread, surprised he looked down into her blue eyes glowing with the plea: Don't. The silent, unexpected begging had stopped him in his tracks. Just the single moment had caused his flight and all the doubt. Was he more upset that he almost went through with it, or that he didn't in the end? Not yet ready to face the question, he again shoved away the thought. Perhaps if he sang…

Slowing, he began humming a familiar tune. Note by note he passed the time with a foreign ballad until the miles seemed to come and go numbingly unnoticed. Over and over he sang the words through the night. I wish, I wish, I wish in vain. I wish I had my heart again…He sang until the storm had cleared, until his step crushed dry gravel, until the dawn began to break.

When day came, he noticed the throbbing in his feet, the mud caked to his pant cuffs, the state of his hair…It all came flooding back to him.

The glowing numbers on the digital clock changed to 1:48 as he stood straddling the bed. A petrified feeling came over him when the blue eyes opened. He pulled out of the terror much more slowly than the other who took note of the situation and immediately begged him to stop. He still wished to continue, but surprised he looked down into her blue eyes glowing with the plea: Don't.

It broke him. Incapable, he backed down, retreating into the darkness. He was no longer safe in that place, however. By morning everyone would know what he had attempted, so he had only one choice: run.

Sighing, he tried once more to lose the memories, but without success. Had he really been walking that long? Now that morning had come, the story would soon be spread through the whole house. He would never again be welcome there. Someway, somehow he had to find a place to start over. Not that he'd ever find the courage, but at least he'd have the chance.

The soft whistle of a chirping bird caught his ears, and instinctually his feet fell into a step in accord with the beat. Glancing over to see if he could spy the music's source, the boy realized the beauty of his surroundings. All this time he had been here? Wildflowers lined the ditches he walked beside. Jagged rock formations could be seen through and around the flourishing trees, and a hundred feet up the road, a waterfall trickled down. Before he knew it, he was standing still amidst the knee high grass.

A calm breeze rustling the leaves blew away all thoughts as the slowly streaming water washed away his worries. Chirping noises filled his mind with the pleasantness of life. He could stay here forever. This place was made for him, and no one could take it away. Not ever! A part of him left the contented trance with the thought. Resentment crept up, ebbing at his peace, and his fist gripped tighter at the object in his hand.

Wait. He was holding something? Looking down past the end of his left arm, he found his fingers clasped around a hard, oblong shell. Both the case and the handle protruding from it were black, laced with strands of dark blue-grey leather. Separating the two pieces were threads of gold, coming together to form two tassels dangling from the sheath. It was the distinctive mark of his older brother's katana.

Eyes grew weary as the question posed itself: Had he really brought it with him?

The thought came to his mind without invitation. Hurriedly he shoved it away, afraid of his own self for having thought it. As the idea returned repeatedly, however, it slowly became more appealing, less shocking and deranged, almost acceptable. Parts could mostly be justified, and once he had justified it, he no longer held the strength to resist it.

Needing only the proper timing, he climbed from bed in the dead of night. As this was revenge, it only seemed right to use the weapon the victim cherished so much. Sneaking into the room, he opened his brother's closet. Inside lie the katana. There, before him, rested the options for his life: turn back now, or follow through with the desire.

Reaching both hands out, he carefully grasped the covered blade. When the sheath easily pulled off the katana, revealing the sleek metal shining in the moonlight, his decision was made.

Silently setting the sheath on the floor, he turned to his eldest brother's bed. It would be quick, and it would be over, he assured himself as a disturbing smirk spread across his face. From there on, control was lost. He had no clue what he was doing and no way to stop himself.

Next thing he knew, he stood straddling his brother's peacefully sleeping body. Creepy smirk and a growl firmly engraved on his face, he held the katana above the victim's heart, satisfied that this evening would never happen again. The glowing numbers on the digital clock changed to 1:48. A moan accompanied stirring beneath the covers, impressing urgency on the attempted murderer, and he prepared for the blow.

Then, those blue eyes opened. Her? What was she doing in this bed? It only furthered his anger. One more reason for him to be rabidly upset. He shook with the fury building inside, yet he couldn't go through with it. A petrified feeling had come over him when the blue eyes opened. He pulled out of the terror much more slowly than the other who took note of the situation and immediately begged him to stop. He still wished to continue, but surprised he looked down into her blue eyes glowing with the plea: Don't.

It broke him. Incapable, he backed down, retreating into the darkness. He now had only one option: run. Absentmindedly grabbing the sword's sheath on his way out, the younger brother fled until he was certain no one had followed.

Having the katana still in his hand etched a frown onto his face. The desire to have his brother killed remained in his heart, and holding a weapon tempted him to return. The frown was his best resistance. He didn't want to be a murderer. Whatever had come over him was not him. He would not give in to the demented urges again. Unsuccessfully, he continued trying to shake free.

Clenching his fist in frustration, he forced himself to through the katana to the ground in the ditch. Without it, he would be less inclined to return. Having regained his strength, he broke away to carry on in his walking. Only a couple more steps up the road, however, he hesitated. His brother loved that katana. What if they met up some day, and he could be forgiven, but was without the katana to return?

He almost went back to grab it. Mental determination allowed him the strength to not. If he held the blade any longer, he would certainly kill his brother, which would bring far worse consequences than leaving it here. Besides, he would never be forgiven. At that, the ability to walk re-inspired him to reach his destination of 'anywhere else.'

The harmonious song of chirping birds and feet on gravel greeted his ears once more, and the cool breeze picked back up. He was beginning to think he liked his hair in his face enough to not slick it back when he got the chance. Did he need to shave? Maybe he would choose to not do that either. A whole new beginning deserved a whole new him.

He began to imagine his next life to pass the time. What work he would do, what kind of place he would live in, the sort of people he would make his friends…these were all important questions to consider. Then, his mind went a little wild, imagining him with a wife…a family…two kids, a baby, and a dog. They laughed and played and ran around joyfully. It was the closest he himself could currently get to the emotion. It all changed, though, when his brother entered the picture.

Instantly, it all changed from a controllable fantasy to a real nightmare. Even though he was awake, he couldn't escape from horrors once more coming over him. Visions and ideas of ways to do things he never wished to do but desired so ardently. A battle scene played out in his mind, endlessly, and each moment past brought his brother closer to a very painful death. Struggling against the pull of the spiral current sucking him to destruction was worthless. No one could overcome desires they really internally craved.

He came out screaming when the illusion stabbed his imaginary brother between the eyes. His arms were shaking with the strain, but at least the dream was over. Looking down to his hands, he found them shivering, gripped onto a pocket knife…stabbed into his brother's head.

No! He shouted, throwing the knife as far as he could. He had decided not to. He couldn't…he wouldn't be that.

Terrified of his own mind, he ran as fast as he could away from that place. When the sakes stopped, he considered the struggle over and slowed to his walking pace. He really wished a car would someday drive by to give him a ride.

A girl knelt in the temple, her soft, black hair flowing over her shoulders, almost down to the floor. She was concerned, for which reason she was there, praying to the ancestors in the traditional way. On her knees she prayed fervently as an incense stick smoked in the corner. The only thing breaking her deep concentration was a young man outside the temple calling out desperately in search of his brother. She prayed for the same boy.

The young man approached the temple. She could tell he was there, come to announce that he was unable to find his brother. Opening her blue eyes, she reluctantly stood and walked toward him. Calmly, and very affectionately, she explained what she knew of the previous night's events. Furious, he pulled away from her, intent on pursuit. She stopped him, though, convinced they should be calm about the matter. After all, he had decided not to.

Slowly, the man yielded to her persuasion.

Finally, the roar of an engine could be heard faintly in the distance. Curiously e looked back at it. It was headed in the proper direction, a convenient reassurance. He was relieved also to notice it was not a part of his family coming to lead him away to his death. The truck was certainly not one he recognized, so he intended to hitch a ride. As the car approached, he stuck out a hand to flag them down. Only, they didn't seem to be slowing any. Concerned, he began to wave. Anything to make them stop. The would, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they stop?

He ran out into the street as the car passed, chasing it quite some ways, yet it never even flashed its break lights. Angered, he kicked at the ground, he ripped at his hair, and he growled at the now disappearing truck. Yelling loudly how much the driver sucked, he stormed back to the side of the road, and soon found his fist implanted on the side of a boulder. He squinted fiercely and furrowed his brow with the pain of having just punched a rock.

It did not make him cry out, however, and he did not pull his arm back immediately from the shock. The reaction sparked something within, and the boy came out from his enraged daze, if only for a moment. If his mental state were analyzed, he was in no condition to be exposed to people. Gradually, he lowered his arm to his side in resignation and picked up his customary walking pace. It was best the car hadn't stopped to pick him up. He might have killed them.

His stomach was starting to plague him. Hunger he could deal with. After all, there were people who had walked far longer distances in much worse conditions than his. Goodness, people could live for a month without eating! He only had to remember that. Besides, he deserved to feel some pain after what he tried to do.

His mind flashed back through the scene of the car driving off without him only the moment before. Of course, his brother gave him every reason to retaliate like he did. They were his friends—his only friends. He had invited them over to hang with him. It was so like his brother to dominate every conversation, to completely take over in any situation involving people. But his friends? They usually had sense enough to sneak away somehow; they were used to it.

Last night they hadn't. That in itself wasn't so much of a bother so as to send him into a murderous frenzy. He just sat in a corner with a book and—half interested in the verbal exchange—would smile when his friends laughed. Then, the doorbell rang, and the evening took an even larger plunge toward hell. The brother returned from the door with three people: his girlfriend, her best friend, and her friend's boyfriend. They were college mates of the older sibling, and where they were present, more people were sure to follow.

The brother quickly included his friends in the conversation, successfully nudging the younger boy out completely. When the expected mob of college students started to arrive, and even their other siblings came in to join the group, the unintentional neglect gradually grew from bothersome to nerve wrecking. There were so many people, and each of them had another to converse with. Even his two friends easily blended into the party—since that was what it had become. Those who had no one could always listen to his brother's endless collection of stories, but not him. There was nowhere in this place he could fit in.

The noise was so loud he couldn't read. A very unattractive lady, not at all shy, sat down beside the boy. Clearly, she was trying to pick up a classmate nearby, but he never heard a word of it, nor could he tolerate her invading his space to hit on someone. Knowing it was way past the point where he should have left the room, he stood to quietly slip out of the party. His brother called out to him, and he turned to face the crowd, book clutched to his chest, obviously on edge. The first time he was at all noticed, and it was to be told not to leave, to be somehow convinced this could in any way be fun.

So he sat, squished between a lamp and the fake plant where no one would try to join him, and he watched, wondering if he even wanted to build the courage to attempt socializing. Even if he could bring himself to approach someone in a setting like this, they would only blow him off for someone more interesting. It would certainly not be worth the effort. Then, he saw her.

She smiled and waved at him across the room. He never fought with himself to speak with her or like her. She talked to him. Just the fact that she noticed him would probably have been enough. Of course, everyone noticed her as well, which meant she usually didn't make her way to him until the end of his brother's parties. One time she came over just for him…but that was a different story. Tonight, she only gave him a better reason to stay than sheer fear of being humiliated by his brother everyday for the rest of his life.

So he sat, awkwardly avoiding human contact. His mind vacillated between attempting communication and being alone. Which would actually be more painful? She kept smiling at him, a reassurance that she was still coming, yet she kept managing to get farther and farther away. At one point, he caught her talking to someone who had been sitting near him, and a nervous self-esteem started to worry it was that person she had been waving to all along…

If someone would start the conversation, I would talk, he thought repeatedly, justifying his anti-social behavior, but would he really talk? Just the thought of it was making him shake. If someone tried to talk to him, he'd like to think he'd be able to meet them halfway. In reality, though, experience showed time and time again he answered shortly until it ended conversations. He glanced over to his friends. They were having fun without him.

Quite a while ago, a group of them had started into games, the embarrassing ones. Usually drunkenly inspired, their only goals were to gain pleasure by inappropriately exposing some aspect of someone. These were the kinds of games where people lost their innocence, and secrets became black mail for eternity. And now, the older brother was announcing that everyone had to participate in this one…or else. With his brother, "else" was never a threat, except when people were around.

Casually, the boy's friend glanced over to see if he was still around, to see what would be his reaction to this turn of events. At least he had been noticed by his own friend; however, the elder brother easily picked up on the brief exchange, and he too remembered the solitary boy in the corner. Only in the most inconvenient times, he thought to himself as he was urged to join the group.

A little distance away, a poor girl sat drunk, duct taped to a chair, her underwear worn overtop her clothing. After pitying her obliviously degraded state, the boy looked back to his brother. Both had the same image in their mind: him in a chair beside her.

Fortunately, that had not been his fate, but the night did not end there either. Letting out a deep breath, he slid down against a tree to rest. He really didn't wish to think further on the subject; it would only make him angry again. With how thirsty and tired he was, he was in no state of mind to be angry. Something bad would come of it, for that was when the demented ideas uncharacteristic for him had begun. It would be highly preferable if he did not make them return.

His eyes began to droop—he had walked so far. Once his head nodded toward the ground, then a second time—he should have slept the night before. Never had he intended to sleep beside the road like this…so soon. He struggled against it, fighting to stay awake, but still his lazy head fell again toward unconsciousness. Banging into his knees, it jerked back to alertness for a moment. The smell of pine trees, he muttered, a blurred last attempt to not give in as he slumped to the side for a nap.

It was dark. Sounds of a struggle could be heard not too far away. One individual was gasping, searching desperately for air. Another stood behind the first, breathing deeply from the excitement of the kill. A necklace tightened against the neck of the dying, the red beads digging into his skin. Though each of them was their own entity, it seemed they were connected somehow.

As one choked, the other's vision began to blur. When the grip of resistance weakened on his arm, he stumbled to the side, off balance. Would the second pass out from this before the first? The worlds started to separate slightly, giving enough distinction once more to recognize the victim, to see him collapse to the ground. He was still being strangled by the necklace, and the attacker fell to his knees as well to make simpler his endeavor.

The last moment before unconsciousness, there was always a sort of desperateness in whoever was on the edge when they realized they could not prevail over death. Fear flashed through watering eyes as they implored salvation no longer from the attacker but from some higher power. This angered the killer who wished himself to be the only power. Anger morphed into a smug grin when the struggle finally ended. TO be so contented about the death was creepy. It sent chills down the spine and goose bumps to the skin to see our main character's crooked smile and satisfied glare as his brother's body fell limply to the blue floor.

He gazed down upon his success once more, expecting a sort of triumph. Instead, he found his brother's body was no longer there. It had been transformed into a woman: her. She was there, dead. Heart beating fast, he looked in terror to the necklace still in his hand that he had used to kill the girl he loved. Yes, it was him. He was a murderer.

Gasping, he awoke. His eyes shot open as he sat up, clutching his throat like he really hadn't take one breath the entire dream. Heart and lungs slowly gave up their race when light began reaching his darkened mind. It hadn't been real. He hadn't actually done any of it. Dreaming was all it had been, no more than that. If that had never happened, it would have been a pleasant nap.

Then, the fiddling of his fingers at his still nervous throat discovered something dreadful. The thin rope tied around the beads of a deep crimson color surrounded his neck. It was…the necklace. So the nightmare could become reality? A smirk crept onto his face as the exiled darkness pierced back into his mind, transforming the almost recovered boy.

He tore away from his altered state of mind. Impossible! It wasn't right for that to be there tempting him. Though it was a gift from Her, he urgently ripped the potential murder weapon away from himself, throwing it far away. The thought crossed his mind to go retrieve the necklace, and when he couldn't expel the fearsome idea, he forced himself to his feet, running once more from his own perverted desires.

While he had successfully escaped the gripping urge previously, at least for a time, he now could not rid himself of it by fleeing. Just when he began to think it was 'out of sight, out of mind,' a strange thought came to him as if suggested from elsewhere: you could do the same with that strap too, you know. Anxiously, he glanced down at his chest. The leather strap of his empty water canteen lie over his heard, enticing him to return home with it. It would work even better than the necklace.

No! How could he think that still? Chasing the new unfathomable scheme from his imagination, he threw also his canteen into the woods where it could not seduce him to evil. If you asked right then, he'd deny it, but he was now incapable of restraining himself, and gradually growing even more so. Given a chance to kill his brother, he wouldn't be able to refrain this time.

As if it wasn't enough for the deranged voice inside his head to suggest strangling by a leather stirrup…Was it really necessary for it to point out the belt on his hips would serve just as well? Furious, he demanded of his own thoughts, Are you really so desperate that you must suggest another option the instant I discard one? I don't want to kill him!

Then, why'd you think of it? The voice that was himself inquired with a verbal smirk implying the full twistedness of the boy's mind. After pausing for half a minute, it noted, Just do it. You won't stop thinking of it until you've done it.

No, I won't, he refused in the argument against himself. And just to show you…he hastened to unbuckle his belt and pull it from his pants. Dropping it to the ground, he stormed off, sure that would work, or, at least…hopeful.

That won't stop you, he reminded himself. From here it only gets worse.

He paused in his determined march, letting his fists relax in hopelessness. The voice in his head was…right? It terrified him, the thought that he could never escape this new him. As this fleeing, every step he took was worthless. One vain stretch for sanity only sucked him deeper into the powerful darkness of his own demented inclinations. Frozen in place, he bowed his head with the dismay of knowing he had never been strong enough to fight it.

A car zoomed by beside him, shocking the boy enough to bring him from his petrified state with a jump. Frightened of what he might do, he slowly backed away from the road with a look that made it seem he was being attacked. P-people? What if he hurt them? He backed himself against a rock wall, the tall grass serving as a protection between him and anything human, but it couldn't protect him from the voice in his own head. Now he was cornered.

As if something really had him trapped there, ideas of how to respond suddenly came to him. A vision flashed through his mind of his grey t-shirt balled up to smother the half-transparent face of his brother. Was it poisoned? Dousing it with gasoline, he lit the fire…

No! He shouted. The images, it hurt! They burned through his eyelids into his mind, making his muscles twitch and palms sweat. No, he muttered more quietly as a tear slid down his face. The images would not leave him. He tore off his shirt and threw it away from himself, but still remained: fire, the invisible face. Had his brother become so unreal to him already? Weren't they supposed to be easier to kill if you couldn't see the face?

He would have protested the thought as he previously had, but he had no more will for it. Turning around, he slammed his head into the rock face. He couldn't stand to see it again! He would erase the vision from his mind! And he banged his head again. If this was the only way…he'd continue. He'd continue until it worked.

Blood dripped down his battered face, mixing with the tears, the dirt, and the hair, as he stumbled away, dizzy from the self imposed trauma. It had grown dark without him noticing, yet he hadn't successfully come to his senses. The pain in his head combined with almost tripping over his feet called something to mind. His boots were steel-toed…

He hastened to remove them before the developing murder plot could materialize to draw him in further. As soon as he succeeded in that, however, he was pinned to the wall by a set of headlights. They were after him! Who? He didn't know, but he was certain anyone pulling over to the side of the road like that wished to kill him. Once more thinking it in his best interest to run, he took to flight.

Deeper and deeper into the forest he darted, running around trees, leaping over roots, and ducking beneath branches. His pounding heart told him he could make it to safety. But his vision blurred and his lungs failed him in their consistency. He had lost too much blood, not drank near enough, and been crazy for too long to run farther. His foot caught on a rock he could have sworn was further ahead, and he fell to his knees. Standing right before him was a snarling wolf.

Logic would have him stand back up. Anyone would at least try. He just called it his fate. If the wolf was to eat him, it was to eat him. The world would be better off without his presence causing it horrors. The wolf would be doing him a favor, destroying an uncontrollable existence that was no longer of value…as long as it would kill his thoughts with him. There was no point in trying to get away.

The wolf approached. The smell of dried blood on the boy's forehead attracted it, enticing the natural instinct of the canine to eat. It took another step closer. His heart began beating heavily in fear, but it was not near as great of a fear as that for his own thoughts.

It would be better if I died, he repeated to himself to make it seem not so bad what was about to happen. If he tried to stand, he might be able to run now, but it was too late. He couldn't overcome himself, and the wolf launched into attack.

He winced in expectation but found instead it was the wolf that had died. He looked up to see his older brother, arms extended, returning his katana to its sheath after the defensive kill. The brother turned to look at his younger sibling with a slight look of disapproval mixed with relief, as a hand grabbed his arm lifting him from his knees.

Honey, you were bleeding, she noted, brushing her fingers across his forehead. Are you all right? And why are you topless and barefoot?

He could only frown and shake his head. Their contact, his desires, their casual reaction to finding him…it didn't make sense. Had he just been rescued by the one he tried to kill? They knew, didn't they? His own confusion blocked out Her words, but she continued to speak until she was suddenly stopped.

The elder boy, despite personal judgment, wrapped his arms around the younger, squeezing him in a hug expressing clearly every ounce of worry he'd felt, and the full extent to which he was giving forgiveness. Breathing sharply, the younger brother tensed at first, not understanding and sure it would cause an adverse reaction. When he received his brother's message, however, he calmed ever so slightly.

Surprised, he looked up and whispered, You don't want to kill me?

No, was the elder's simple response, and then, finally, he relaxed.