Loralie

Through his drunken daze, he oddly felt sober as the rope tightly held in his hand materialized into existence. It was quite comforting, the feeling of the coarse fibres rubbing against the sensitive side of his palm. He knew what he was going to do and as sickening as it may have sounded, he waited for it. Every inch of his being shook with anticipation. He was happy for once.

The happiest he has ever been.

The forest moaned sadly as the winds above bellowed across, brewing for a storm but he continued walking.

He lumbered forward as if he bore the cross on his shoulders staring with bloodshot eyes into the void in front as the whispers grew louder. He grimaced fighting the accusatory voices which resonated against the walls of his cranium, staggering against tiny rocks which covered his path.

The voices full of spite and hatred latched onto him like a leech refusing to let go as it sucked away his will to live, playing back the haunting memory in a constant loop.

He was ready to crumble to his knees and let out a blood-curdling scream. Something to make them stop but before he could, out came a cry in the distance as it pierced through the cold midnight air.

A cry of an infant in unimaginable pain.

Without a second thought, he let the rope drop onto the ground as he rushed blindly into the darkness with outstretched arms mumbling to himself in constant denial as the cries slowly morphed into screams so agonizing it felt inhuman. He slapped aside the bushes and branches which blocked his path as bile rushed to his throat from the fear. From the fear of what a person so inhumane was capable of causing such distress in an infant. From the fear of whether it was human at all in the first place.