Not sure what this is gonna be, it just sort of flowed out I guess.
Jared stared blankly at the wall in front of him, he sat hunched over on the remains of a creaky metal bed. The scent of burning still fresh in his nostrils, the walls charred black.
He clutched a picture in his left hand, whatever the photo once depicted had faded into memory, for now it was little more than an ashen piece of paper, crumbling a little more with every slight breeze that blew through the glassless window.
One thought danced in his brain, mockingly chanting the same words over and over.
You should never have left
He climbed to his feet and dusted off his ragged leather coat. His rough, weatherbeaten face red from previously stifled tears. He reached into the corner of his old bedroom, taking a sword his Dad had bought him on his fourteenth birthday. It was a replica, made of stainless steel, not fit for battle but more than adequate for the purpose he had in mind for it. The scabberd was burnt and cracked but it had done the job of protecting the blade inside. He secured the weapon back in its sheath and tucked it in the folds of his clothes, concealing it from any member of the public that may attempt to halt him on his imminent journey.
He swiftly turned to leave, stepping carefully as the strength of the building had been weakened by the recent fire. He stepped slowly down what should have been a familiar flight of stairs, but was now little more than an blackened ruin. Reaching the bottom he stepped over a charred corpse with a calm demeanor. He dared not look directly at it, for fear he might recognise one of it's burnt features. The corpse would later be identified as his youngest sister.
The distant sound of sirens echoed in the blackness of the night, light wisps of smoke still fluttered callously in the wind. A Crowd had gathered, some with phones out filming the smoking wreckage, others huddled in groups. Pretending they want to help but never actually lifting a finger to do so. Jared continued purposefully forward, step by step. Not breaking his gait for any member of the crowd who tried to question or console him.
He had spent his entire life plagued by shadow. Now, somehow, he would rid himself of them once and for all. Ghastly apparitions of Nothingness, their forms twisting impossibly in the darkest shadows. Their mocking laughter emnated from every crook and crevice. None denied them, those that tried paid. They had made that clear to him a year ago. Now finally they had made good on their promise. There were, however, still people he could protect from the spreading evil that followed him, snapping at his heels with every feverish step.