The "figure" and him.

The wind grazed his skin, vexing around him. Surrounding him. It watched as he stumbled home, tripping on his broken sole. His mind trembled with emotion. He blocked out the world. Ignoring the sharp tongued wind and the stabbing splash of rain just beginning to fall. He was dazed, a stomach full of bubbling alcohol. A mind full of bubbling thoughts. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him at first, not until the rain started to fall heavily. They began to grow louder. Echoing in the puddles forming on the gravel. 

The alcohol had consumed him though, the footsteps didn't seem important. They were quite calming. Every splatter creating a beat. He kept walking, growing fond of the sound. It soothed him, left him dazed. More dazed then the alcohol had. His steps became more messy. The uneven path becoming more of a struggle. The soaking ground started to blur into grey. Swaying side to side he slowed down. Coming to a halt all together. The footsteps stopped. His head banged and his stomach growled viciously. No longer able to see he bent forward trying to steady himself but his drunken state left him laying on the floor. Wet and confused. The splatters began again, the pounding of hard leather against crumbling gravel. The grating sound pierced through his ears and he keeled onto his side. Abruptly the footsteps stopped. So did the rain. A darkness washed over his entire self. He felt nothing, he always felt something. Even if it was a little something. Now he only felt alone... Hopeless.

His eyes blinked open. A figure stood above him. Completely black, it didn't seem human. He saw a glint of glimmering silver and started to shift away. Crawling backwards in a hazed speed. His hands shredding, the gravel drawing blood. The figure watched curiously... Not moving. Yet still edging the silver object from his pocket out. In a scramble he was on his feet. The blackness pulled out the shiny object. A knife. Slick and sharp. It's desire to take life was evident. He could feel it's cravings for blood. It was alluring. He wanted to get closer but his whole body screamed with fire to leg it. So he did. Not quick enough in his intoxicated state though. The figure managed to slice a clean chunk of human flesh from his side. He limped as fast as he could away, pressing his hand to the broken flesh. He felt the current red blood dripping from his side. Leaving a trail. He was almost like a snail, leaving a pathway to follow. Moving slowly. Giving the figure a chance to crush his shell. 

He looked back still dragging himself as fast as he could but the figure just walked at a causal pace. Wiping his blade across his sleeve, the blood glinting in the moonlight. It was hypnotising. He couldn't tell if everything that was happening was real. If his drunk state was making him imagine this. The figure looked up and he could feel his smirk even-though he couldn't see it. It sped up, each leg pumping forward. Faster with every step. He tried to run, his side shrieking in agony. It ripped as he run.   He was running as fast as he could. Every tear of his skin burned like fire. With aching legs he had to slow down. Ready to give up he turned. Grabbing his side he crouched down. Giving himself to the darkness. Afraid yet longing for death. The figure was close behind, it was hovering above him within moments. Stealing all memories of joy and goodness. 

Leaning down the figure looked deep into his eyes, he could tell it saw his pain. His grief. A sharp flick hit is chin. The blood trickling down his neck. Another stab to his chest came moments after. One to his arm. Another to his leg and another and another. One more to his right arm. One in his left side. The final one right through his gut. Seeming to have no conscience left the figure leaned in closer. It spoke. "I'll leave you here to bleed but you won't die. I won't take you from the pain your feeling inside. I want you to suffer. I want to bring you to the brink. Let you survive then drag you back again. Give you a glimpse of happiness. Then snatch it back. Your craving for death won't be fulfilled for a long time. I'll never leave you, no doctor can ever heal you completely. Because I'll be watching you making sure your never whole." The words leaked with pure evil, anger and hatred. It stood above him one last time watching him before stalking away with the glimmering knife dripping at his side. 

He laid on the path, feeling the blood drain from all the holes in his body. It seeped through his fingers, thick and gloopy. It was the darkest red, darker then mahogany. It poured from him all over the ground. The grey and red mixing in a deadly shade of black. That's how he felt black. Empty. No fear, no pain. He just felt an overwhelming sense of darkness. He knew that tomorrow he would wake up fine. This had happened before, the alcohol had just messed with his brain. He would wake up alone again. Sad, depressed and empty. He would search for good only to find a bottle of whisky instead. That would have to do.