The din in his surroundings were blacked out. All that he noticed was that the bar counter in front of him was swaying. Beckett was drunk. The empty glass in his shaky hand reflected his thoughts. Paying the bar tender, he got up and left. Everything was hazy, the ground, the sky, memories...that was the point. He wanted to forget. Forget his days in the army. Forget the blood. He wanted to forget the day he came home to see his family brutally murdered. He wanted to forget it all. But, though he drank his fill, some feelings still remained. He looked up at the night sky. Through fuzzy vision, he could see the full moon staring down on him. The same full moon that had haunted him night after night, accompanied with the screams of loved ones. Still looking up, he continued to walk. Something caught his foot, and is face landed hard on the concrete. It took him a few minutes to realize that he had fallen, and a few more minutes to pick himself up. He looked down to see what had tripped him. A dog. Big and scruffily.

“What's it doing out here” he thought. He kicked it with his foot. It didn't move. He walked around it, and continued teetering towards his home.

There was a soft pitter-patter behind him. Becket turned around sharply. A little too fast for his state of mind, he had to blink a few times to balance himself. There, standing in front of him, was the dog. He blinked again.

“Old man Beckett, you're too drunk for your own good.” Saying this, he turned around and started to walk home again. The noise of footsteps behind him continued. After a few more steps, he got angry. He turned around once more, and in a slurred voice, yelled at the dog, or at least in it's general direction.

“Why ya gotta follow me like that? I ain't done nothin' to you. Why ya gotta follow me? Dammit, why are ya followin' me, Lucy? Why can't you leave me alone?” By this point he had closed his eyes and a few lonesome tears trickled down his grizzly face. He looked truly unkept, and though a man of only twenty nine, he had bags under his eyes, and his mouth sagged a little. It was obvious that he wasn't talking to the dog. His mind was elsewhere, roaming through anything the whiskey hadn't washed away.

“Go 'way, Lucy. You're not supposed ta be here. I already gave ya the flowers ya wanted. There roses, just like ya asked for. Pretty red ones. An' i took off the thorns, just the way ya like 'em.” His voice choked up with tears. He bent over double and began to cry uncontrollably.

“Why'd ya have to go, Lucy? Why'd ya leave me all alone?” Once again he looked up at the sky, the full moon. Then he yelled at the top of his lungs,

“Why'd ya leave me all alone?” His rough voice echoed through the deserted alley. Then he dropped to the ground, unconscious.