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Steps Speeding down the rain-slicked side street to his home, he stomps on the brake pedal, screeching to a halt within his garage. He sits for a moment pondering if this location is good enough, when he is startled by a sudden, loud blast of thunder. The alcohol coursing in his veins reduces his thoughts to was close, as he gets out and stumbles to the side door. Fumbling with his keys, he leans against the cold door for support. As if his key opened the gates of the hereafter, another bolt of lightning ripped across the sky with a mighty roar. Jumping at the sensory overload to his brain, he rams his head straight into the barely open door. Everything goes black as he slams the door behind him. Damn lights out now? he questions the light switch. He tears at his jacket, as though a demon of Hell is in it. He manages to release the beast from his chest, only to stumble in his attempt at ascent. Lying on the upper floor he slides back to stand upon the landing. Ta hell with it. he mumbles, deciding to go into the basement. Now with a rapidly enlarging protrusion on his forehead and the blind rage of alcohol driven instinct, he rips off his rain-and-blood soaked jacket.Dave tosses his jacket to the floor, sighs, and he begins his decent. As the rolling thunder reaches his ears and the pitch black seeps into his eyes, his memories strike him like mortar shells from afar. Like a perfect canvas to a prodigal painter, the darkness provides no flaws to detract from that which he has suppressed for so long. His mind, like a crazed projectionist, plays his memories out of order, and in its flow of insanity, starts with a bloody mess. You really screwed up this time, bro. And now, youre gonna pay. Somehow, the postulation reaches his mind through the pounding headache. It barely registers before the man whom spit that phrase drove his shoe into Daves ribs. The thought of her even being taken hadnt even crossed his mind. In fact, very few things had crossed his mind. Most of what had

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been considered had to do with the quickest way to get that dress on the floor. He wipes some of the blood from his face, just after he plants his foot on the first step. Lightning strikes the earth in his back yard, so close and so loud pictures fall from their place on the wall, but all he knows is the next memory as his foot touches the next step down. She had asked him to meet her, as usual, after class. They had been arguing recently. If he had been honest with himself, it was stupid. He had issued a ridiculous ultimatum and she had refused. In the two days after they broke up, one of her friends asked her on a date. She had agreed. But the same day they got back together, three days after the initial off with her, she said that she still wanted to go on the date with the other guy. I promised him I would goand I really want to see the movie. But if you dont want me to, I wont go. She pleaded him with her deep brown eyes; all the while putting him between a rock and the hardest place there is; his wanting her all to himself. Less than a week later, he had an answer for her If you want to go, go. But dont come back to me. I dont share my girlfriend. A chill runs down his back as the third step is trodden upon.His shivers rack his body, the icy weather bit into him far more deeply than he thought. Daves mind strays tothe events which led to his being jumped outside the club. He had been leaning on the bar, alone in drinking his nerves away, when Aphrodite herself sauntered over. Quite simply, he couldnt help himself; he had to succumb to the vigor within him. As he thinks about it, he chuckles at his own blind ignorance. He barely growls a full thought before he is distracted by a glint of yellow light that seems to originatenowhere, My past always comes back to haunt me. He stumbles to the next step, feeling the weight of his differentiation bear down on him. His only thought is of a dream from so long ago, he had forgotten the sheer terror that had ridden on his screams; forgotten the paralyzing fear of that dream, that nightmare. The first thing he

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remembered was the smell of battle, the way he had felt his victims bones crunch beneath him. He felt an inherent purpose, like he had a goal. This feeling became buried in his horror of watching his hands rip limb from torso, the taste of blood struck him like a slap to his face. The taste of iron laden blood filled his mouth. His ears ring with the shrill screams of the slain. Finally reaching the end, he peers about him surveying the surrounding carnage. Finally gaining some control; he screams, fighting for consciousness. Glancing around himself and details of his bedroom begin to fade in, but covered in the blood of his victims; his friends. Another shriek escapes from his mouth andconsciousness almost slips from his grasp. He summons the internal power to move his head and look at the clock, but he cant read it. Struggling against the ropes of the dream, he finally gains full consciousness. He returns to find his sheets soaked in his sweat, that he is too weak to stand, and every muscle in his body is sore; he feels as if he was in a violentcar accident. He believes that he must have passed out shortly after waking due to the lack of any further memory of the incident. As he descends to the fifth step, his blood boils with the returning memory of a battle which he chose to start; that battle that had ended in his expungement from the family. The day had begun like any other, at least somewhat pleasant. He awoke to the smell of pancakes and maple syrup. He worked his way out of bed, got dressed, and stumbled up the stairs and was affronted by the sound of laughing. His mouth felt incredibly dry, so he got a glass of water. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!? was the first form of understandable speech that Dave heard that morning. Dave ignores it, reasoning: I just woke up, havent done anything. WHY ARENT YOU DRESSED YET?!? is screamed at Dave. He gives it a little thought, and replies. Mostly, because I just effing woke up. What the hell did you think? That I decided to become a nudist and this is step two of the twelve step program. The sarcasm oozes from his voice. The

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reply almost surprised him; not in content, but in tone. Go. Get your belongings. Daves eyebrows rise with the tension in the wind-bags windpipe.Get out of my house. Dont ever come back. So, for once, he did as he was told. He stands upon the sixth stepenvisioning a scene in his bedroom, not two weeks prior. He sits nude, shivering, and fumbling with a small piece of rope, on his bed. Extending his arm, Dave measures the rope with his arm. Should be long enough... Glancing at the ceiling, he spots the small object he was searching for and continues with his work. His thoughts slip through his reasons for this action, the reasons for this travesty that he has created by him to deal with it all. Who could be so foolish as to miss me? The realization strikes him like punch to the jaw. I dont even care. God does not care. Upon the seventh step, he sees nothing. He stops, on the last step of his journey, staring into the darkness of his own soul. Lightning strikes once again, like a camera flash bursting in Daves eyes. The image that appeared as the light faded from his eyes was that of a man, a fallen angel. His face was contorted in fury and pain. In the mouth of the beast was the Hangmans Noose Dave had tied weeks ago. Dave took a step forward, reaching for the mouth of the serpent. Grasping out, he stumbles into his desk.Knocking the gargoyle statue down, he snatches the noose from the desk. Finding the nail he put in the ceiling; in its place, hidden behind the ceiling tiles. Finding the simple slipknot on one end of the rope, he hung the rope from the bent nail. Thudding down on his bed, he causes a minor collapse of the mountain that he had haphazardly constructed from the plentitude of bottles he had emptied. He barely noticed this; David was far too preoccupied with the current decision he was faced with. Go, or noWell, now is as good as ever. He stands up, grabs the desk chair, thrusts it into position, and looks up. God, if you are listening, screw you.

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He stands on the chair, forces his head into the loop of rope before him, and closes his eyes. Sorry Mom. Those two words were the last two to ever pass from his lips. At the end of his last syllable, he kicked the chair out from beneath himself. As the tension in the rope snaps the delicate connective tissue in his neck he is haunted one last time. His final memory, unlike the rest of his night, was pleasant. He had jumped off a swing, and preparing to land. Sadly, that landing never came.