The door clicks.

It is a small sound.

A metal tongue.

It slides into place.

You are in the room.

The room is grey.

The walls are brick.

The brick is old.

It is cold.

You sit.

You do not move.

You hold the box.

The box is wood.

It is dark.

It is heavy.

You have held it for years.

It is yours.

The air is thin.

It smells of dust.

It smells of iron.

You breathe in.

You breathe out.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Time is a line.

It does not bend.

It does not break.

It only goes forward.

You know this.

You have always known.

A knock comes.

It is soft.

It is polite.

It is wrong.

You do not answer.

The knocking stops.

Silence returns.

It is thick.

It is wet.

You look at the box.

The wood is smooth.

You run your hand over it.

Your skin is rough.

Your skin is old.

You think of her.

Her name is Eleanor.

Her face is clear.

Her eyes are blue.

She is gone.

She is in the box.

Not her body.

Her essence.

Her voice.

Her silence.

You have kept it.

You have guarded it.

You have fought for it.

The door opens again.

It is not a knock.

It is a breach.

A man stands there.

He wears a suit.

The suit is grey.

It is tight.

It is stiff.

He has a face.

The face is flat.

The face is empty.

He holds a paper.

The paper is white.

The paper is blank.

He speaks.

His voice is dry.

It is like sand.

It is like gravel.

“Citizen.”

The word is sharp.

It cuts the air.

You do not look up.

You look at the box.

“Your status is revoked.”

The words are flat.

They have no weight.

They have no meaning.

You do not care.

You know what he means.

They do not know you.

They do not see you.

They see a shape.

They see a number.

They see a file.

The file is closed.

The file is empty.

You are nothing.

This is their truth.

It is a lie.

But it is a strong lie.

It is a hard lie.

It is a stone.

It falls on you.

You do not move.

You sit.

You hold the box.

“Please surrender the item.”

His voice is louder.

It is angry.

It is afraid.

He is afraid.

He is afraid of you.

He is afraid of the box.

He does not know what it is.

He knows it is yours.

He knows you will not give it.

He knows you are dangerous.

He is wrong.

You are not dangerous.

You are tired.

You are sad.

You are alone.

He steps in.

His shoes squeak.

The sound is ugly.

It is wrong.

He reaches for the box.

His hand is pale.

His hand is cold.

You move.

You are fast.

You are old.

But you are fast.

You pull the box close.

You press it to your chest.

You feel the wood.

You feel the heat.

It is warm.

It is alive.

His hand stops.

He looks at you.

His eyes are wide.

His eyes are small.

He sees you.

For a second.

He sees the truth.

He sees the love.

He sees the grief.

He sees the box.

He sees what it is.

He pulls his hand back.

He steps back.

He looks at the door.

He looks at you.

He shakes his head.

It is a small shake.

It is a sad shake.

He leaves.

The door closes.

The click is loud.

It is final.

It is absolute.

You are alone again.

The room is grey.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

You look at the box.

You open it.

The lid lifts.

It is heavy.

It is slow.

The light enters.

It is bright.

It is white.

It is blinding.

You look inside.

There is nothing.

There is only dust.

There is only air.

There is only space.

You look at the dust.

It is fine.

It is gold.

It is old.

You reach in.

Your hand is empty.

You close the box.

The lid slams.

The sound is hard.

The sound is final.

You hold it.

You feel nothing.

You feel less.

You feel light.

The weight is gone.

The heat is gone.

The life is gone.

You sit.

You are still.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The door opens.

It is the man.

He is there again.

He has a gun.

The gun is black.

The gun is cold.

He looks at you.

He looks at the box.

He looks at the floor.

He lowers the gun.

He does not shoot.

He does not take the box.

He walks out.

The door closes.

You are alone.

The room is quiet.

The clock stops.

Tick.

No tick.

Silence.

Total silence.

You look at the box.

It is just wood.

It is just a box.

You look at your hands.

They are empty.

You look at the door.

The door is closed.

You are inside.

You are free.

You are nothing.

You are everything.

You stand up.

Your legs are weak.

Your legs are old.

You walk to the door.

You turn the handle.

It does not turn.

It is locked.

You push.

You push hard.

The door does not move.

You pull.

You pull hard.

The door does not move.

You are stuck.

You are trapped.

You are home.

You sit down.

You sit in the middle.

You hold the box.

You hold it tight.

You close your eyes.

You breathe.

You breathe in.

You breathe out.

The air is still.

The air is cold.

You think of her.

Her name is Eleanor.

Her face is clear.

Her eyes are blue.

She is gone.

She is in you.

She is in the box.

She is in the silence.

She is in the dust.

You are not alone.

You are never alone.

The clock starts.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound is loud.

The sound is clear.

The sound is life.

You listen.

You wait.

You hold.

You stay.

The door does not open.

The man does not return.

The world does not change.

The world is grey.

The world is stone.

The world is cold.

But you are warm.

You are here.

You are now.

The box is in your lap.

It is heavy.

It is light.

It is real.

It is true.

You are the keeper.

You are the guard.

You are the wall.

You are the boundary.

You are the line.

You do not cross it.

You do not break it.

You hold it.

You hold it.

You hold it.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The door is closed.

The room is grey.

You are there.

You are there.

You are there.