The rain hits the glass. It is a heavy, gray sheet. You are standing at the window. Your hands are wrapped around a ceramic mug. It is cold to the touch. You do not feel the cold. You feel only the vibration of the storm against the frame. Inside the room, the air is still. It smells of wet wool and old paper. On the table, there is a folded piece of cloth. It is white. It is a flag. Or it was. Now it is a rag. The edges are frayed. The thread is loose. It is a relic of a war you fought for a man who no longer cares if you are alive.

You remember the night you left. It was not a dramatic exit. There was no shouting. There was no broken glass. There was just the sound of your boots on the floorboards. Margaret was asleep. Her breathing was soft. She did not know you were leaving. You did not tell her. You could not. The words were too heavy. They sat in your throat like stones. You looked at her face. She was beautiful. She was yours. You loved her with a force that defied logic. It was a primal need. It was the only thing that felt real. You touched the door handle. It was cold metal. You opened the door. You stepped into the night. The wind howled. It sounded like a beast. You did not look back. You could not. If you looked back, you would stay. And you could not stay. Not anymore.

The man who sent you was named Halloway. He wore a suit that cost more than your house. He smiled often. His eyes were dead. He spoke of honor. He spoke of duty. He spoke of service. You believed him. You wanted to believe him. You were a soldier. You had been trained to obey. You had been trained to take orders. You had been trained to kill. But you were not trained to lie. Not to your wife. Not to yourself. You went to his office. It was on the top floor. The view was clear. You could see the whole city. It looked small from up there. It looked fragile. Halloway sat behind his desk. He did not stand. He poured two glasses of whiskey. He pushed one toward you. You did not drink. You stood by the window. You looked at the rain.

"Go," he said. His voice was low. It was calm. "It will be over soon. Come back. We will fix it. We will make it right." You nodded. You did not speak. You walked out. You did not go back. You went to the docks. The work was hard. You loaded crates. You carried boxes. Your back ached. Your hands bled. You did not care. You needed to feel pain. You needed to feel something other than the emptiness. The emptiness was a void. It was a hole in the center of your chest. It swallowed you. You worked until your body gave out. You slept in a cot in a storage room. You dreamed of Margaret. In the dream, she was smiling. In the dream, the rain was gentle. In the dream, you were home. You woke up crying. You did not know why. You only knew you were alone.

Weeks passed. Then months. The war ended. You did not know how. You did not read the news. You did not watch the television. You lived in the gray. You lived in the rain. You lived in the silence. You sent no letters. You made no calls. You were gone. You were erased. You were a ghost. You walked the streets. You saw people. They moved. They spoke. They lived. You watched them. You envied them. They had the luxury of being normal. You did not. You were broken. You were a weapon that had been used and discarded. You were a tool that no longer fit. You were a mistake.

One day, you saw him. Halloway. He was in a car. It was black. It was shiny. It moved slowly through the rain. He was inside. He was talking on the phone. He was laughing. You stopped. Your heart stopped. You felt a surge of anger. It was hot. It was red. It was a fire. You wanted to smash the glass. You wanted to break his face. You wanted to end him. But you did not. You stood still. You watched him drive away. The car disappeared into the fog. You felt nothing. The anger was gone. It was replaced by a cold clarity. You knew what you had to do. You knew who you were. You were not his soldier. You were not his tool. You were a man. You were a husband. You were free.

You went to the house. It was the same. The lights were off. The curtains were drawn. You stood on the porch. The rain was still falling. It was a steady, rhythmic drumming. You looked at the door. It was dark. You knocked. There was no answer. You knocked again. Still nothing. You pushed the door. It opened. It was unlocked. You stepped inside. The air was stale. It smelled of dust. You walked through the hallway. The floorboards creaked. You stopped in the living room. It was dark. You could not see. You turned on the light. The room was empty. The furniture was covered in sheets. The books were on the shelves. The pictures were on the walls. Margaret’s face looked out at you. She was smiling. She was beautiful. You felt a tear roll down your cheek. It was warm. It was real. You were home.

You walked to the bedroom. The door was closed. You opened it. The bed was made. The pillows were flat. There were no signs of life. You sat on the edge of the bed. You put your head in your hands. You wept. You wept for the time you lost. You wept for the love you broke. You wept for the man you had been. You wept for the man you had become. You wept for the future you had stolen. You sat there for hours. The rain kept falling. The night kept coming. You did not move. You did not breathe. You were still. You were part of the room. You were part of the silence.

In the morning, the light came. It was soft. It was gray. You stood up. Your legs were stiff. Your body ached. You walked to the kitchen. You made coffee. You drank it. It was bitter. You liked the taste. You went to the window. The rain had stopped. The sky was clear. The sun was out. It was bright. It was warm. You looked at the city. It was the same. It was different. You were different. You were not the same man who had left. You were not the same man who had returned. You were something new. You were something broken. You were something rebuilt.

You picked up the white cloth. It was on the table. You looked at it. It was frayed. It was torn. It was a piece of nothing. It was a piece of everything. You held it in your hands. You felt the texture. It was rough. It was soft. You thought of the war. You thought of the blood. You thought of the death. You thought of Halloway. You thought of his smile. You thought of his dead eyes. You let go of the cloth. It fell to the floor. It lay there. It was white. It was clean. It was free. You did not pick it up. You did not fold it. You did not hide it. You left it. You left it on the floor. You walked away. You walked to the door. You opened it. You stepped outside. The air was fresh. It was cold. It was real. You took a breath. You felt the air in your lungs. You felt the life in your body. You were alive. You were here. You were home.

You did not go back to the house. You did not go back to the bed. You did not go back to the past. You walked down the street. You walked into the city. You walked into the light. You walked into the future. You did not know where you were going. You did not know who you were. You did not know if you would be forgiven. You did not know if you would be remembered. You did not know if you would be saved. You did not care. You only knew that you were walking. You only knew that you were free. You only knew that you were alive. The rain was gone. The sun was shining. The world was turning. You were part of it. You were part of the life. You were part of the truth. You were part of the end. You were part of the beginning. You were part of the now. You were part of the everything. You were part of the nothing. You were part of the all. You were part of the one. You were part of the many. You were part of the silence. You were part of the sound. You were part of the dark. You were part of the light. You were part of the pain. You were part of the joy. You were part of the loss. You were part of the gain. You were part of the end. You were part of the start. You were part of the loop. You were part of the circle. You were part of the wheel. You were part of the turn. You were part of the spin. You were part of the drift. You were part of the fall. You were part of the rise. You were part of the breath. You were part of the heart. You were part of the soul. You were part of the spirit. You were part of the ghost. You were part of the bone. You were part of the blood. You were part of the flesh. You were part of the skin. You were part of the eye. You were part of the ear. You were part of the nose. You were part of the mouth. You were part of the hand. You were part of the foot. You were part of the head. You were part of the neck. You were part of the back. You were part of the chest. You were part of the belly. You were part of the hip. You were part of the thigh. You were part of the knee. You were part of the calf. You were part of the shin. You were part of the ankle. You were part of the toe. You were part of the finger. You were part of the nail. You were part of the hair. You were part of the sweat. You were part of the tear. You were part of the smile. You were part of the frown. You were part of the laugh. You were part of the cry. You were part of the shout. You were part of the whisper. You were part of the word. You were part of the silence. You were part of the noise. You were part of the music. You were part of the song. You were part of the rhythm. You were part of the beat. You were part of the pulse. You were part of the heartbeat. You were part of the life. You were part of the death. You were part of the between. You were part of the after. You were part of the before. You were part of the now. You were part of the always. You were part of the never. You were part of the here. You were part of the there. You were part of the everywhere. You were part of the nowhere. You were part of the something. You were part of the nothing. You were part of the all. You were part of the one. You were part of the many. You were part of the end. You were part of the start.