The rain hits the tin roof. It sounds like knuckles. You are sitting. You are alone. The cell is small. The walls are damp. The air is thick. It tastes of rust. It tastes of old fear. You look at your hands. They are bound. The rope is tight. It bites into the skin. You do not move. You wait.

A shadow falls. It blocks the light. The door opens. A man enters. He is tall. He wears a coat. The coat is long. It is black. It is heavy. It drags on the floor. The fabric is worn. The elbows are thin. The seams are frayed. He looks at you. His face is calm. His eyes are hard. They are cold. Like iron.

"Hello," he says. His voice is low. It is rough. Like gravel.

"Who are you?" you ask. Your voice is dry. It cracks.

"I am here," he says. "To end it."

You nod. You know this face. You know this coat. You have seen it before. In dreams. In the dark. In the memory. You forget the name. You forget the time. But you feel the weight. The weight is on you. The weight is on him.

"Sit," he says. He points to the chair. The chair is wood. It is old. It creaks. You sit. Your legs are weak. They shake.

He stands. He looks at the wall. The wall is bare. There is a mark. A dark stain. It looks like a hand. It looks like a foot. He turns to you.

"Do you remember?" he asks.

"I remember," you say. "I remember everything."

"No," he says. "You do not."

He steps closer. The smell of him is strong. It is smoke. It is wet wool. It is death. You flinch. Your body moves before your mind. You hate this. You hate the fear. It is a beast. It is inside you. It eats you.

"Listen," he says. "This is the last time. We will do this right. We will end the loop."

You laugh. It is a dry sound. It is cruel.

"Loop?" you say. "You speak of loops. I speak of pain. I speak of blood. That is all I know."

He sighs. It is a long sound. It is tired.

"You are the soldier," he says. "You are the guard. You are the judge. You are all of it. And I am the prisoner. And the executioner. And the ghost. Do you understand?"

You shake your head. No. You do not. You only feel the pain. You only feel the hunger. The hunger for the end. The end is a door. You want to walk through it.

"Let me go," you say.

"Not yet," he says. "Not until you see. Not until you understand. The coat is the key. Look at it."

You look. The coat hangs on his shoulders. It is tattered. It is worn. It has been worn for a long time. It has been worn by many. It has been worn by you. You know this. You feel it in your bones. The fabric is thin. It is like skin. It is like a second self.

"I wore that coat," you say. The words come out slow. They are heavy.

"Yes," he says. "You wore it. I wore it. We all wore it. It is the mark of the damned. It is the sign of the service. You served. I served. We served. And the service never ends."

You look at your hands again. The rope is still there. The cuts are fresh. The blood is dark. You try to remember. You dig into the past. You dig deep.

You see a field. It is gray. It is foggy. You see a wall. It is high. It is made of stone. You see a man. He is young. He is you. He is holding a rifle. The rifle is heavy. He is aiming. He is shaking.

"Who?" you ask. "Who is the man?"

"Me," he says. "And you. And him. And her. It is us. It is always us. We are the ones who hold the gun. And we are the ones who bleed. And the coat takes the blood. It drinks it. It grows stronger. It grows darker. And we keep wearing it. And we keep shooting. And we keep dying. And we keep waking up."

The room feels colder. The air is still. You feel the truth. It is a stone. It falls in your chest. It crushes your heart.

"Why?" you ask. "Why do we do this?"

"Because we are afraid," he says. "We are afraid of the dark. We are afraid of the nothing. So we make a system. We make a rule. We make a duty. We call it justice. We call it honor. But it is just fear. It is just fear in a uniform. And the uniform is the coat. And the coat is the cage."

You look at him. His face is sad. It is not evil. It is tired. He is like you. He is like the man in the field. He is like the ghost.

"Can we stop?" you ask.

"Yes," he says. "But you must let go. You must let go of the coat. You must let go of the duty. You must let go of the anger. If you hold on, it will pull you back. If you hold on, you will be the shooter. And I will be the target. And the blood will fall. And the coat will drink. And the loop will turn. Again. And again. And again."

You feel the anger. It is hot. It is bright. It is in your hands. It is in your teeth. You want to fight. You want to break. You want to tear the world apart. You want to make them pay. You want to make them feel.

"I will not stop," you say. "I will not let go. I will make them hurt. I will make them bleed. I will break the loop with my hands."

You lunge. Your body moves fast. It is a blur. You grab his coat. You pull. You pull hard. Your muscles scream. The rope on your wrists tears. The skin rips. The blood sprays. It is red. It is hot. It hits the floor. It hits the coat.

He does not fight. He does not move. He just stands. He lets you pull. He lets you pull until your arms give out. You fall. You hit the ground. Your knees are broken. Your face is in the dirt. You gasp. You pant.

He stands over you. He looks down. His face is empty.

"You see?" he says. "You are the one who breaks. You are the one who bleeds. You are the one who hurts. And I am the one who watches. And the coat is the one that wins. It soaks up the blood. It grows. It becomes heavier. And you are lighter. And you are weaker. And you are alone."

You try to get up. Your legs do not work. They are numb. You crawl. You crawl toward him. You grab his leg. You hold on. You do not let go.

"Please," you say. "Help me. Save me. Break the chain. Cut the rope. Cut the coat. Cut it all."

He looks at you. His eyes are wet. They are not tears. They are rain. They are the same rain that hits the roof.

"I cannot," he says. "I am part of it. I am the coat. I am the duty. I am the fear. I cannot save you. I cannot save myself. We are the machine. And the machine must run. And the fuel is us. And the fire is the pain."

You pull. You drag him down. He falls. You fall with him. You are on top. You punch. You hit his face. You hit and hit and hit. The sound is wet. It is the sound of meat. It is the sound of breaking. You do not stop. You cannot stop. You must make him stop. You must make the world stop.

He does not fight back. He just takes it. He takes it all. His face is a ruin. Blood flows. It flows into your eyes. You taste it. It is salty. It is iron.

Then he stops. He stops moving. He looks at you. His eyes are clear. They are empty.

"It is done," he says.

You stop. You are breathing. Your chest heaves. Your hands are red. The blood is on your hands. The blood is on his face. The blood is on the coat.

You look at the coat. It is soaked. It is dark. It is wet. It looks like it is breathing. It looks like it is alive. It looks like it is smiling.

You look at him. He is still. He is not dead. He is not alive. He is something else. He is the echo. He is the memory.

"Who are you?" you ask. Your voice is small. It is a whisper.

"I am you," he says. "I am the part of you that wants to be the judge. I am the part of you that wants to be the criminal. I am the part of you that wants to be the victim. I am the part of you that wants to be the ghost. And we are all wearing the coat. And the coat is heavy. And the coat is cold. And we are all alone."

You feel the weight. It is on your shoulders. It is on your neck. It is in your bones. You feel it pulling you down. You feel it sinking you. You are sinking into the floor. You are sinking into the dirt. You are sinking into the dark.

You look at your hands. The blood is drying. It is turning black. It is turning into the color of the coat. It is turning into the color of the past.

You close your eyes. The pain is still there. The fear is still there. The anger is still there. But the noise is gone. The shouting is gone. The rain is gone.

There is only the silence.

There is only the weight.

There is only the coat.

You open your eyes. The room is the same. The walls are the same. The door is the same. But you are different. You are not the soldier. You are not the guard. You are not the judge. You are just a man. You are just a man in a room. You are just a man with a wound.

You stand up. Your legs are weak. They shake. But you stand. You look at the body. It is gone. It is not there. There is no one. There is only the chair. There is only the stain. There is only the coat.

The coat is on the chair. It is empty. It is waiting. It is waiting for you. It is waiting for the next one. It is waiting for the loop to start.

You look at it. You feel the pull. You feel the hunger. You feel the duty. You feel the fear.

You do not pick it up.

You walk to the door. The door is open. The light is bright. It is white. It is blinding.

You step out. The air is cold. It is fresh. It is new.

You look back. The room is empty. The coat is on the chair. It is still. It is waiting.

You walk away. You do not look back. You do not turn. You do not run. You walk. You walk slowly. You walk with a limp. You walk with a wound. You walk with a heart.

The rain stops. The sky is gray. The sky is clean.

You are alone. But you are not in the cell. You are in the world. The world is big. The world is hard. The world is cruel. But it is real.

You feel the coat. It is not on your body. It is not on your shoulders. It is in your mind. It is in your memory. It is in your blood.

It will always be there. It will always be heavy. It will always be cold.

But you are walking. You are moving. You are free.

The loop is broken. Or is it?

You do not know. You do not care.

You just walk.

You just breathe.

You just live.

The pain is yours. The blood is yours. The fear is yours.

But the coat is not yours.

You leave it behind.

You leave it in the dark.

You leave it in the rain.

You leave it in the past.

You walk into the light.

The light is warm. The light is soft. The light is kind.

You smile. It is a small smile. It is a sad smile. It is a true smile.

You are free.

You are finally free.

The wind blows. It carries the scent of earth. It carries the scent of rain. It carries the scent of life.

You breathe it in. You breathe it deep.

You are alive.

You are here.

You are now.

The past is gone. The future is unknown. The present is all you have.

And the present is enough.

You keep walking. Your steps are steady. Your heart is strong. Your spirit is free.

The coat is behind you. It is fading. It is dissolving. It is disappearing.

It is becoming nothing.

It is becoming silence.

It is becoming peace.

You walk on.