What had he done?

What had he become?

He could feel the sharp sting of glass cutting into his knees, but didn't recognize it. His cracked glasses made the scene fractured into multiple visions, making it of greater torture. But he couldn't see it through the blur of the tears that ran down his face. Red and brown, white and blue melded into one mass of incomprehensible insanity that swam before his burning eyes, and though the coppery smell was powerful and the dying heat of life was so close, he dared not to move.

His hands were sticky---and when he brought them up, he saw them covered with blood. He shook his head hard, sending his glasses off and skittering across the floor, across the spreading pool from the thing before him he just didn't want to look at anymore. He gritted his teeth, biting back a sob that threatened to explode out of him. He hung his head.

"I'm sorry." He coughed at last. "So sorry. It was an accident..."

An accident!? The condescending voice in his mind screamed at him, forcing him to curl in on himself and shake. That's not an accident! You're a murdering bastard! Look at him! Look!

He didn't want to. Regardless, however, he opened his eyes. Though he couldn't see without his glasses, he didn't need to---his brother was dead. His blood was everywhere---everywhere, and he knelt in it, his hands and shirt, covered. It almost didn't look realistic, and if he hadn't done it, he'd have thought it staged.

"I'm so sorry, Azzy..." Daniel brought up his hands and hid his face. He had killed his brother---his other half. The only thing he had in life. Without looking, his right hand went for the knife he'd cast aside.