"Michael, stop!" The poor lad looked down at me from his towering height, those black eyes barely visible beneath the mask, "It's not her fault."

I looked down at the girl he had been trying to kill. She had the eyes of an animal now. A frightened deer lost in the headlights. Even as I faced a psychopath who was sure to kill me, my thoughts kept racing back to college, remembering the lecture of how to handle the mentally terrified.

"It's my fault. I've failed you, Michael," I shuddered, struck at the sincerity and reality of those words.

Numbly, I watched as the boy who had once always been Mikey to me. Who had always joked about my accent. Who had always been as absent of emotion as black was the absence of color.

Mikey. I stood there, staring in my numb state at the huge man advancing toward me, reminiscing about the days when he had been my true friend, Mikey I'm sorry. I never-

But I was cut off when he grabbed my neck, squeezing my life away, lifting me off my feet, away from my regret.

I could go free.

Michael Meyers. You could never be that boy again. You would always be the killer you were born to be.

I'm Sorry...