The Stuff of Nightmares Part 2

He couldn't remember his name.

That battered and broken soul across from him, trying to look brave but only succeeding in looking young and scared.

He should have known his name. Hell – he could barely remember his own

He should have offered some comfort.

He should have tried to stop this, but deep down inside he knew that he was just pitifully glad that it wasn't him. So he did nothing.

Too late now.

The sound was loud, reverberating in his head and leaving echoes that would last forever.

Can images have echoes?

Will he see the blood forever too?