It was always on a night like this-- when the fog was thick, the moon obscured by clouds, a sense of dread hanging in the air-- that Luke found himself so caught up in his thoughts that nothing else seemed to matter to him. It was nights like this that made him remember everything, including things he'd never actually done. Guilt was always a powerful thing and it gnawed at his soul, his mind, his being, leaving him lost to the outside world. It ate him alive. He never trusted himself with his own thoughts. Walking home on one such evening, Luke found himself staring at the sidewalk. It was another new city, another new job, new life. He knew it wouldn't last long--it never did. Something always found him, a bit of the past dredged up from the bottom of memory come back to haunt him. Either that or something would go wrong, he'd snap, someone ended up hurt or worse... But no. Don't think about that. His shadow seemed to grin at him and the soft scuff of his shoes on the sidewalk whispered comfort and reassurances as he walked. Nothing would happen. It wasn't his fault. There's no reason to worry now. Everything would be fine. He had to stop under a light post, rubbing at his eyes, catch his breath before things got worse. His shadows weren't talking to him. It was impossible. Everything was not alright. There was plenty reason to worry. He kept his eyes closed, and out of sheer will, opened them and pressed on. The whispers were gone, but everything was blurry, twisted. He had a near-miss encounter, almost colliding with a young woman, and then an older man as he continued through the fog. He had to get home, had to get this nagging feeling off of his chest.