The wool is thin. You feel the cold of the room through the thread. It is a gray wool. It was white once. Now it is the color of old ash. You pull it tight around your neck. The collar bites. You are the Captain. You are the guard of the door.

The door is heavy. Iron. Cold.

"Move," you say.

The woman looks at you. Her eyes are wet. She holds a bundle. It is small. It is wrapped in blue cloth.

"I have a right," she says. Her voice is high. Thin.

"You have a ticket," you say. "You have no ticket."

"I have a heart," she says.

You look at the bundle. It does not look like a weapon. It looks like bread. It looks like life.

"Move," you say again.

She does not move. The air smells of wet stone and fear. There are others behind her. They watch. They do not speak. They are the mist. They are the silence.

You feel the weight of your coat. It is heavy. It is your skin. It is your name. You are Edward. You are the law. You are the wall.

"Step aside," you say.

"I will not," she says.

You reach for her arm. She pulls back. The blue cloth tears. A piece falls to the floor. It is a ribbon. It is red.

"Help," she whispers.

No one comes. The hall is empty. The mist is thick. You can see the floor. You can see the wall. You cannot see the end.

"You are breaking the rule," you say.

"I am breaking the silence," she says.

You look at your hands. They are steady. They are strong. They are the hands of a soldier. They are the hands of a husband. You think of Margaret. You think of the bed. You think of the warmth. You push her aside.

It is not a hard push. It is a firm push. She stumbles. She falls. The bundle rolls away. The red ribbon snags on the stone.

"Get up," you say.

She does not get up. She lies there. She looks at you. Her eyes are not wet now. They are dry. They are empty.

"You are a monster," she says.

You feel a crack. It is in your chest. It is small. It is quiet.

"Go," you say.

She gets up. She picks up the bundle. She does not look at you. She walks away. The mist swallows her.

You stand still. The door is open. The cold comes in. You shiver. You pull your coat tighter. The wool is thin. The wool is wearing.

Later, you go to the office. It is small. It is dark. There is a desk. There is a chair. There is a file.

The file is open. The name is Margaret.

You sit down. The chair is hard. You look at the name. You look at the paper. The paper is white. The ink is black.

"Who is this?" you ask the air.

No one answers. The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick.

You remember the woman. The red ribbon. The dry eyes.

You remember Margaret. The bed. The warmth. The way she laughed. The way she touched your face.

You are the Captain. You are the guard. You are the wall.

But the wall is cracking.

The mist is inside.

You stand up. You walk to the door. You open it. The hall is empty. The mist is thick.

You walk out. You walk down the hall. You walk past the guards. They look at you. They do not speak. They are the mist.

You walk to the stairs. You go down. The steps are stone. They are cold.

You reach the bottom. The door is there. It is closed.

You knock.

No one answers.

You knock again.

The wood is hard. It is dead.

"Open," you say.

The door opens.

It is not a guard. It is a mirror.

You look at the glass. You see your face. Your eyes are red. Your coat is torn. The wool is thin.

You see the woman. She is behind you.

You turn around.

She is there. She holds the bundle. The red ribbon is in her hand.

"Who are you?" you ask.

"I am the truth," she says.

You do not understand. The words are fog.

"Where is Margaret?" you ask.

She smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a cold smile.

"Margaret is you," she says.

You feel the floor drop. The air leaves your lungs.

"No," you say. "No."

You grab her arm. You pull her. She is light. She is mist.

She breaks.

She is gone.

You are alone.

The mirror is gone.

The door is open.

You look at your hands. They are shaking. You look at your coat. The wool is thin. The wool is wearing.

You walk back to the office. The path is long. The mist is thick.

You sit at the desk. The file is open. The name is Margaret.

You close the file.

You open it again.

The name is Edward.

You look at the paper. The ink is black. The paper is white.

You are the Captain. You are the guard. You are the wall.

You are the mistake.

The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick.

You stand up. You walk to the window. The glass is cold. You press your hand against it.

Outside, the world is gray. The mist is everywhere.

You see a figure. It is far away. It is small. It is wearing a gray coat.

It is you.

It is walking away.

You try to call out. Your voice is gone. Your mouth is dry.

The figure stops. It turns. It looks at you.

It raises a hand. It waves.

It is a goodbye.

It is a release.

You feel the weight of the coat. It is heavy. It is your sin. It is your duty. It is your life.

You take it off.

The wool is thin. The wool is wearing.

You hold it in your hands. You look at the thread. It is frayed. It is broken.

You drop it.

It falls to the floor. It is a puddle of gray.

You are naked. You are free. You are cold.

You close your eyes.

The mist comes in. It fills your lungs. It fills your heart.

It is warm.

It is soft.

It is gone.

You open your eyes.

The room is empty. The desk is empty. The file is gone.

You are standing in the hall. The door is closed.

A guard walks by. He looks at you. He does not see you. He walks on.

You are the mist.

You are the silence.

You are the truth.

You walk to the door. You open it.

The cold hits you. The air is sharp.

You step out.

The world is bright. The sun is high. The mist is gone.

You are alone. You are free. You are dead.

You walk down the street. The people pass you. They do not see you. They are the mist. They are the silence.

You walk to the bridge. The river is below. It is dark. It is deep.

You look at the water. It is still. It is calm.

You think of Margaret. You think of the bed. You think of the warmth.

It is gone. It is always gone.

You look at your hands. They are empty. They are clean.

You close your eyes.

You step back.

You fall.

The water catches you. It is cold. It is wet.

It is home.

You sink.

The light fades.

The mist returns.

It wraps around you. It holds you. It saves you.

You are the Captain. You are the guard. You are the wall.

You are the door.

You are the mist.

You are the end.

The wool is thin.

The wool is gone.

You are gone.

The hall is empty.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Silence.