I dream of the floor. Not the carpet. The wood. Oak. Scratched. Old. I see it from below. From under the table. From the gap where the light comes in. It is cold there. I am a mouse. I am a shadow. I wait. The footsteps come. Heavy. Leather. They stop. I hold my breath. The weight shifts. He is looking. He is always looking.

I wake up. The room is gray. The light is thin. It cuts across the sheets. I am still. My heart beats. It beats like a trapped bird. I do not move. I listen. The house is quiet. The wind is outside. It scrapes the glass. It wants in. I let it.

I dress. Slowly. The blouse is white. The skirt is black. They are simple. They are clean. I button them up. I look in the mirror. I see my face. It is pale. It is thin. The eyes are wide. They do not blink. I do not blink. I am watching myself. I am always watching myself.

I go to the kitchen. The coffee is black. It is hot. It burns my tongue. I like it. The pain is real. It wakes me up. I drink it fast. The cup is empty. I put it in the sink. I wash my hands. The water is cold. It stings. I look at my fingers. They are white. They are strong. They are mine.

I walk to the office. The floor is polished. It shines. It reflects the light. It reflects me. I see my reflection moving. It is smooth. It is fast. It is me. I do not like it. I like the scratches. I like the wood. I like the place where the light breaks.

The room is big. The walls are high. The door is heavy. I knock. No one answers. I wait. The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is loud. It is slow. I wait. I do not knock again. I am patient. I am good at waiting.

The door opens. Edward stands there. He is tall. He is dark. He wears a suit. It fits him. It hides his body. I look at his face. It is blank. It is calm. He does not speak. He steps aside. I go in.

The desk is large. It is wood. It is dark. It is solid. There are papers on it. They are white. They are thin. They are full of words. I do not read them. I do not need to. I know what they say. I know what they mean. I know what they are.

Edward sits. He leans back. The chair creaks. He looks at me. I look at him. We do not move. The air is still. It is thick. It is heavy. I feel it on my skin. I feel it in my lungs. I breathe it in. I hold it. I let it go.

"You are here," he says. His voice is low. It is soft. It is flat. It has no music. It has no life. It is just air. It is just sound.

"I am here," I say. My voice is quiet. It is clear. It is steady. It does not shake. It does not break. It is like a stone. It is like a wall.

He smiles. It is small. It is thin. It does not reach his eyes. His eyes are cold. They are hard. They are like glass. They are like ice. They do not melt. They do not break. They only cut.

"Did you sleep?" he asks.

"Yes," I lie.

"Liar," he says.

I do not answer. I look at the desk. I look at the papers. I look at the wood. I see the grain. I see the knots. I see the scars. I see the history. I see the time. I see the years. I see the pain. I see the loss. I see the love. I see the hate. I see the truth.

"I have a task for you," he says.

"I am listening."

"Go to the warehouse. Bring me the box."

"Which box?"

"The red one. The big one. In the corner."

I nod. I do not speak. I stand up. My legs are stiff. I move them. I walk to the door. I do not look back. I do not look at him. I do not look at the desk. I do not look at the papers. I look at the floor. I look at the wood. I look at the scratches. I look at the light.

The hallway is long. It is dark. The light is dim. It is yellow. It is warm. It is fake. It is a lie. I walk fast. My heels click. Click. Click. Click. It is loud. It is sharp. It is clear. It is the only sound. It is the only truth.

I reach the door. It is locked. I have the key. I take it out. It is cold. It is metal. It is hard. I put it in the lock. I turn it. It clicks. The door opens. It creaks. It groans. It sighs. It gives way. I step through.

The warehouse is cold. It is dark. It is big. It is empty. The air is stale. It is old. It is dead. It smells of dust. It smells of rot. It smells of time. It smells of fear. I breathe it in. I taste it. It is bitter. It is sour. It is bad.

I walk. My feet are silent. I do not click. I do not stomp. I do not make a sound. I am a ghost. I am a shadow. I am a mouse. I am the floor. I am the wood. I am the light.

I see it. The red box. It is in the corner. It is big. It is heavy. It is old. It is dusty. It is broken. The paint is peeling. The wood is rotting. The nails are rusty. The hinges are loose. It is a coffin. It is a cage. It is a tomb. It is a lie.

I stop. I stand still. I do not move. I do not touch it. I do not open it. I do not break it. I do not destroy it. I look at it. I look at the wood. I look at the scratches. I look at the light. I look at the shadow. I look at the truth.

I remember. I remember the dream. I remember the floor. I remember the light. I remember the mouse. I remember the shadow. I remember the wait. I remember the breath. I remember the fear. I remember the pain. I remember the love. I remember the hate. I remember the truth.

I do not take the box. I do not carry it. I do not move it. I do not bring it to him. I do not give it to him. I do not serve him. I do not obey him. I do not follow him. I do not love him. I do not hate him. I do not care about him. I do not care about the box. I do not care about the task. I do not care about the lie.

I turn around. I walk back. My feet are silent. I do not click. I do not stomp. I do not make a sound. I am a ghost. I am a shadow. I am a mouse. I am the floor. I am the wood. I am the light.

I reach the door. I open it. I step through. The warehouse is behind me. It is dark. It is cold. It is dead. It is gone. It is lost. It is over. It is done. It is finished. It is complete. It is true.

I walk to the office. The hallway is long. It is dark. The light is dim. It is yellow. It is warm. It is fake. It is a lie. I walk fast. My heels click. Click. Click. Click. It is loud. It is sharp. It is clear. It is the only sound. It is the only truth.

I reach the door. It is open. Edward is inside. He is sitting. He is waiting. He is watching. He is looking. He is smiling. It is small. It is thin. It does not reach his eyes. His eyes are cold. They are hard. They are like glass. They are like ice. They do not melt. They do not break. They only cut.

"You have the box," he says.

"No," I say.

My voice is quiet. It is clear. It is steady. It does not shake. It does not break. It is like a stone. It is like a wall.

"Where is it?" he asks.

"I left it," I say.

"Left it?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In the warehouse."

"Why?"

"I didn't want it."

He stands up. He is tall. He is dark. He is heavy. He is loud. He is angry. He is afraid. He is lost. He is alone. He is small. He is weak. He is broken. He is dead.

"You are fired," he says.

"I know," I say.

I do not move. I do not run. I do not cry. I do not scream. I do not beg. I do not plead. I do not fight. I do not struggle. I do not resist. I do not yield. I do not submit. I do not surrender. I do not capitulate. I do not give in. I do not give up. I do not give way. I do not give out. I do not give over. I do not give away. I do not give back. I do not give forth. I do not give out. I do not give up. I do not give in. I do not give way. I do not give out. I do not give over. I do not give away. I do not give back. I do not give forth.

I pick up my bag. It is small. It is black. It is empty. It is light. It is mine. I put it over my shoulder. I walk to the door. I open it. I step out.

The hallway is long. It is bright. The light is white. It is clean. It is pure. It is true. It is real. It is life. It is hope. It is freedom. It is peace. It is joy. It is love. It is truth.

I walk. My heels click. Click. Click. Click. It is loud. It is sharp. It is clear. It is the only sound. It is the only truth.

I reach the front door. I open it. The air is cold. It is fresh. It is clean. It is pure. It is true. It is real. It is life. It is hope. It is freedom. It is peace. It is joy. It is love. It is truth.

I step out. The sun is high. It is bright. It is warm. It is strong. It is alive. It is real. It is true.

I walk. I do not look back. I do not look at the building. I do not look at the window. I do not look at the floor. I do not look at the wood. I do not look at the scratches. I do not look at the light. I look at the sky. I look at the clouds. I look at the birds. I look at the trees. I look at the people. I look at the world. I look at myself.

I am free. I am alive. I am real. I am true. I am here. I am now. I am me. I am enough. I am good. I am safe. I am home. I am free.

I walk. The sun is high. The air is clean. The heart is light. The mind is clear. The soul is free. The body is strong. The spirit is alive. The love is true. The hate is gone. The fear is gone. The pain is gone. The lie is gone. The truth is here. The light is here. The life is here. The freedom is here. The peace is here. The joy is here. The love is here. The truth is here.

I walk. I am the floor. I am the wood. I am the light. I am the mouse. I am the shadow. I am the truth. I am the free. I am the alive. I am the real. I am the me. I am the here. I am the now. I am the enough. I am the good. I am the safe. I am the home. I am the free.