The rain fell in sheets of grey. It washed the mud from the wheels. It slicked the stones of the bridge. Thomas walked. He walked until his legs burned. He walked until the sky turned black. He was a clerk in the city. He kept the ledgers. He counted the coins. He did not look up. He had been sent to the village of Oakhaven. The village was old. The village was deep in the hills. The road was bad. The cart had broken an axle. Thomas had to walk the rest. He carried a bag. The bag was heavy. It held the seal. It held the letter. It held the truth. Or so he thought. He did not know what he carried. He only knew he had to deliver it. The village was a mistake. It was not on the map. It was not on the list. It was not in the records. Thomas had found it by chance. Or perhaps by fate. He had seen the sign. It was broken. It was half buried in the earth. He had read the name. He had turned his horse. He had come here. Now the horse was gone. Now the cart was broken. Now he was alone. The mist rose from the ground. It swallowed his feet. It swallowed the road. It swallowed the world. He could not see the end of the path. He could only see the fog. He walked into the fog. The village appeared. It was small. It was dark. The houses were low. The roofs were thatched. The chimneys were silent. No smoke rose. No light shone. The doors were shut. The windows were black. Thomas stopped. He stood in the square. He held his bag tight. The leather was wet. The metal buckle was cold. He heard a sound. It was a scratch. It was a scrape. It came from the well. He looked down. The water was still. The water was dark. He saw a face. It was his own face. But it was not his face. It was old. It was tired. It was full of pain. He blinked. The face vanished. He shook his head. He walked to the house of the elder. The door was open. The light was dim. A candle burned. It flickered in the draft. The elder sat in a chair. He was old. His hair was white. His eyes were closed. He did not move. Thomas cleared his throat. The sound was loud. The elder did not open his eyes. Thomas spoke. He said his name. He said his purpose. He held out the bag. The elder moved. He moved slowly. He reached for the bag. His hand was shaking. His hand was dry. He took the bag. He did not open it. He held it in his lap. He looked at Thomas. His eyes were open. They were clear. They were cold. The elder spoke. His voice was low. It was like dry leaves. He said, "You know what this is." Thomas shook his head. He said, "I do not know." The elder smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was a sad smile. He said, "You know." Thomas felt a chill. It ran down his spine. He felt the weight of the bag. He felt the weight of the road. He felt the weight of the years. He had not slept. He had not eaten. He had only walked. He had only carried. He had only obeyed. The elder stood. He was tall. He was thin. He walked to the window. He looked out. He said, "The tree is dying." Thomas looked at the window. He saw the tree. It was an oak. It was huge. It was old. Its branches were bare. Its bark was cracked. It was dying. Thomas felt a pain. It was in his chest. It was a sharp pain. It was a burning pain. He did not understand. The elder turned. He looked at Thomas. He said, "The tree is you." Thomas stepped back. He hit the wall. The candle fell. The light went out. The room was dark. The room was silent. Thomas stood in the dark. He heard the breathing of the elder. He heard the wind outside. He heard the rain. He felt the bag in the elder's hand. He felt the truth. The truth was heavy. The truth was cold. The truth was his. He had not known. He had not seen. He had only carried. He had only obeyed. He had only walked. The elder spoke again. His voice was soft. It was gentle. It was kind. He said, "You can leave it here." Thomas did not move. He stood in the dark. He felt the presence of the bag. It was gone. It was in the elder's hand. It was on the table. It was in the room. It was in the air. It was in the water. It was in the tree. It was in him. He could not leave. He could not run. He could not hide. He was part of it. He was part of the tree. He was part of the village. He was part of the mist. The elder sat down. He closed his eyes. He said, "Sleep." Thomas did not sleep. He stood. He watched. He waited. The night passed. The rain stopped. The mist cleared. The sun rose. The light came. It was bright. It was sharp. It was cold. Thomas looked at the tree. The tree was gone. There was only a stump. The wood was white. The wood was smooth. The wood was empty. There was no leaf. There was no branch. There was no root. There was only the hollow. Thomas looked at the elder. The elder was gone. The chair was empty. The candle was burnt out. The room was empty. The village was empty. The houses were silent. The doors were closed. The windows were dark. Thomas stood in the square. He held his bag. The bag was empty. The leather was dry. The metal buckle was warm. He opened the bag. He looked inside. There was nothing. There was no seal. There was no letter. There was no truth. There was only a leaf. It was dry. It was brown. It was brittle. He picked it up. He held it in his hand. It crumbled. It turned to dust. It fell to the ground. It washed away in the rain. Thomas stood. He looked at the stump. He looked at the road. The road was clear. The road was straight. The road led back to the city. He turned. He walked. He walked away. He did not look back. He did not stop. He did not speak. He walked until the village was gone. He walked until the hills were gone. He walked until the city appeared. The city was grey. The city was loud. The city was alive. Thomas walked into the city. He walked to his office. He walked to his desk. He sat down. He opened his ledger. He picked up his pen. He wrote. He wrote the numbers. He wrote the names. He wrote the dates. He did not write the truth. He did not write the tree. He did not write the elder. He did not write the mist. He wrote only the facts. He wrote only the numbers. He wrote only the silence. He worked. He worked until the light went out. He worked until the night came. He worked until the pain stopped. The pain did not stop. The pain remained. It was in his chest. It was in his hand. It was in his head. It was in his heart. He was still. He was calm. He was empty. He was full. He was the tree. He was the stump. He was the dust. He was the rain. He was the silence. He was the truth. He knew. He knew what he was. He knew what he had done. He knew what he had lost. He did not care. He did not fear. He did not hope. He did not dream. He was there. He was here. He was now. The day came. The day was long. The day was bright. The day was cold. Thomas walked. He walked to the edge of the city. He walked to the park. He walked to the river. He sat on the bench. He looked at the water. The water moved. The water flowed. The water carried things away. He saw a leaf. It was brown. It was dry. It was brittle. It floated on the water. It moved away. It disappeared. Thomas watched. He did not blink. He did not move. He did not breathe. He was still. He was calm. He was empty. He was the tree. He was the stump. He was the dust. He was the rain. He was the silence. He was the truth. He knew. He knew what he was. He knew what he had done. He knew what he had lost. He did not care. He did not fear. He did not hope. He did not dream. He was there. He was here. He was now. The sun set. The light faded. The shadows grew. The stars appeared. The moon rose. The night came. Thomas stood. He walked. He walked home. He went to bed. He closed his eyes. He slept. He dreamed. He dreamed of the tree. He dreamed of the mist. He dreamed of the elder. He dreamed of the rain. He dreamed of the truth. The dream was clear. The dream was bright. The dream was cold. The dream was real. He woke. The light was grey. The light was soft. The light was quiet. Thomas sat up. He felt the pain. The pain was there. The pain was sharp. The pain was deep. The pain was real. He looked at his hands. His hands were still. His hands were dry. His hands were empty. He opened the bag. The bag was on the floor. The bag was open. The bag was empty. There was nothing. There was only dust. He closed the bag. He put it away. He dressed. He left. He walked. He walked to the office. He sat. He worked. He wrote. He counted. He kept. He was the clerk. He was the man. He was the thing. He was the silence. He was the truth. He knew. He knew what he was. He knew what he had done. He knew what he had lost. He did not care. He did not fear. He did not hope. He did not dream. He was there. He was here. He was now. The years passed. The years were long. The years were quiet. The years were cold. Thomas grew old. His hair turned white. His face lined. His eyes dimmed. He still worked. He still wrote. He still counted. He still kept. He never left. He never spoke. He never looked back. He was the tree. He was the stump. He was the dust. He was the rain. He was the silence. He was the truth. He knew. He knew what he was. He knew what he had done. He knew what he had lost. He did not care. He did not fear. He did not hope. He did not dream. He was there. He was here. He was now. The end came. The end was quiet. The end was still. The end was cold. Thomas sat in his chair. He held the bag. The bag was empty. The bag was light. The bag was gone. He closed his eyes. He breathed. The breath was shallow. The breath was slow. The breath was last. He felt the pain. The pain was sharp. The pain was deep. The pain was real. He felt the tree. He felt the mist. He felt the elder. He felt the rain. He felt the truth. The truth was heavy. The truth was cold. The truth was his. He let go. He let go of the bag. He let go of the pain. He let go of the truth. He let go of himself. The light faded. The sound stopped. The world vanished. Thomas was gone. The chair was empty. The bag was on the floor. The dust settled. The silence remained. The truth remained. The tree remained. The stump remained. The dust remained. The rain remained. The silence remained. The truth remained. He knew. He knew what he was. He knew what he had done. He knew what he had lost. He did not care. He did not fear. He did not hope. He did not dream. He was there. He was here. He was now.