The ink was black. It was wet. It smelled of iron and old blood.

I held the pen. My hand did not shake. I was a clerk. I was a man of forms. My name was Arthur. It was a small name. A quiet name. It fit the desk. It fit the chair. It fit the room.

The room was not a room. It was a throat. The walls breathed. The light was not light. It was a gaze. I looked up.

You are late, said the voice. It came from everywhere. It came from nowhere. It was the voice of the High Steward.

I am here, I said.

You are not here, it said. You are a shadow. A stain. A mistake.

I looked at the paper. The paper was white. The paper was waiting.

What do you want? I asked.

Write, it said.

Write what?

Your death.

I looked at the pen. The nib was sharp. It was a needle. It was a tooth.

I will not, I said.

The air grew cold. The cold was a blade. It cut the breath from my lungs.

Then you are guilty, it said.

Guilty of what?

Of existence.

I thought of Margaret. I thought of the bread she baked. I thought of the way the sun hit the flour dust. It was golden. It was soft. It was real.

I am not guilty, I said.

The Steward laughed. The laugh was a crack. It split the air. It split the silence.

We all are, it said. We all are.

I picked up the pen. The ink flowed. It was a river. It was a tear.

I wrote.

My name.

Arthur.

The paper drank it. The letters sank. They vanished.

More, said the Steward.

I wrote.

My sin.

I did not know my sin. I wrote the first thing.

I am afraid.

The ink glowed. The light turned red.

Yes, said the Steward. That is the sin. Fear.

I put the pen down. My hand was steady. My heart was a drum.

There is more, I said.

There is always more.

I looked at the wall. The wall was a mirror. I saw myself. I was small. I was gray. I was a speck.

I am not afraid, I said.

The Steward was silent.

I am not afraid.

The silence was heavy. It pressed on me. It crushed the air.

You are lying, said the Steward.

I am telling the truth.

Truth is a weapon, it said. A sharp one.

I held the pen again. The ink was dry. I dipped it. The water in the well was black. It was deep.

I wrote.

I forgive you.

The Steward gasped. The gasp was a wind. It blew the dust from the floor.

You cannot, it said.

I can.

You do not know me.

I know you. You are afraid too.

The Steward roared. The roar was a storm. The walls shook. The light flickered.

I am the Law, it said. I am the Order. I am the End.

You are a man, I said. A man in a cage. A man in a mirror.

The Steward stopped. The storm died. The air was still.

Who are you? it asked.

I am a clerk.

You are a ghost.

I am alive.

Show me.

I looked at the paper. The paper was full. The letters were gone. The ink was gone. The page was blank.

Here, I said.

I pointed to the white space.

There is nothing there, said the Steward.

There is everything, I said. There is the bread. There is the sun. There is Margaret. There is the life I do not have. But I can feel it.

The Steward leaned in. The face was close. The eyes were dark. The eyes were wet.

Why do you do this? it asked.

Because I must.

For whom?

For no one. For everyone.

The Steward stepped back. The step was a retreat. The retreat was a defeat.

You are a fool, it said.

Yes.

A brave fool.

Yes.

The Steward looked at the pen. The pen was still. The ink was still.

Put it down, it said.

I did.

The room changed. The throat closed. The walls receded. The light grew soft. The light was gold.

I looked around. I was in a field. The grass was green. The sky was blue. The air was sweet.

I looked at my hands. They were clean. They were free.

I looked at the Steward. He was gone. Or he was me. Or I was him. It did not matter.

I walked. I walked into the field. I walked toward the light.

The grass brushed my legs. It was soft. It was real.

I thought of Margaret. I thought of the bread. I thought of the sun.

I was not afraid.

I was not guilty.

I was free.

The end was a beginning. The beginning was a choice. The choice was mine.

I stopped. I looked at the sky. The sky was vast. The sky was empty. The sky was full.

I spoke.

I am here.

The wind answered. The wind was a whisper. The wind was a song.

I am here.

I closed my eyes. I felt the sun. I felt the heat. I felt the life.

I opened my eyes. I was back at the desk. The room was dark. The room was quiet. The pen was in my hand. The paper was blank.

I looked at the Steward. He was sitting in the chair. He was smiling. The smile was sad. The smile was kind.

You did it, he said.

What did I do?

You freed us.

I looked at the paper. The ink was moving. The letters were forming. They were not words. They were shapes. They were symbols.

What are they? I asked.

They are names, said the Steward. They are the names of the lost. They are the names of the free.

I looked at the first name. It was my name.

Arthur.

I looked at the second name.

Margaret.

I looked at the third name.

The Steward.

I looked at the rest. There were many. There were thousands. There were millions.

Who are they? I asked.

We are they, said the Steward. We are the ones who wrote. We are the ones who died. We are the ones who lived.

I put the pen down. The pen was heavy. The pen was light.

I stood up. The chair scraped. The sound was sharp. The sound was clear.

I walked to the door. The door was open. The door was a portal. The door was a path.

I stepped through. The step was a fall. The fall was a rise.

I was in the field. The field was real. The sky was real. The grass was real.

I was alone. I was not alone. I was everyone. I was no one.

I looked at the horizon. The horizon was a line. The line was a break. The break was a chance.

I walked. I walked toward the line. I walked toward the break.

I did not look back. There was nothing to look back at. There was only the now. There was only the here.

I was a clerk. I was a man. I was a ghost. I was a light.

I was free.

The story is not over. The story is never over. The story is a loop. The loop is a circle. The circle is a point.

I am the point.

I am the center.

I am the end.

I am the beginning.

I am the ink.

I am the paper.

I am the pen.

I am the word.

I am the silence.

I am the breath.

I am the life.

I am the death.

I am the life after the death.

I am the light after the dark.

I am the truth after the lie.

I am the freedom after the cage.

I am the bread after the hunger.

I am the sun after the night.

I am the love after the loss.

I am the hope after the despair.

I am the peace after the war.

I am the rest after the struggle.

I am the stillness after the storm.

I am the calm after the chaos.

I am the order after the disorder.

I am the law after the anarchy.

I am the end after the beginning.

I am the beginning after the end.

I am the eternal.

I am the infinite.

I am the absolute.

I am the void.

I am the full.

I am the empty.

I am the nothing.

I am the everything.

I am the one.

I am the many.

I am the self.

I am the other.

I am the here.

I am the there.

I am the now.

I am the then.

I am the then.

I am the now.

I am the here.

I am the there.

I am the self.

I am the other.

I am the many.

I am the one.

I am the everything.

I am the nothing.

I am the full.

I am the empty.

I am the absolute.

I am the infinite.

I am the eternal.

I am the light.

I am the dark.

I am the word.

I am the silence.

I am the breath.

I am the life.

I am the death.

I am the life.

The end.