The bell rang. I heard it. It was a small sound. Like a coin dropping on stone. I ignored it. I was busy. My hands were in the clay. I was shaping a bowl. It was a good bowl. It was perfect. I knew it was perfect. The walls were thin. They were even. I smoothed the rim. I thought of the war. I thought of the fire. I thought of the men. They were coming. I knew they were coming. I did not look up.

The bell rang again. Louder this time. It shook the dust from the ceiling. I wiped my hands. The clay was cool. It felt like skin. It was my skin. I was part of the clay. The clay was part of me. We were one. We were old. We were tired. The village was quiet. The birds had stopped singing. The wind was dead. I stood up. My knees cracked. I was old. I was the potter. Everyone knew that. I made the cups. I made the plates. I made the things that held the water. I held the water. I held the life.

I walked to the door. I opened it. The sun was bright. It was too bright. It hurt my eyes. I squinted. I saw the road. The road was empty. There was no one. But the bell was still ringing. It was a warning. I knew it was a warning. I went back inside. I closed the door. I locked it. The lock was old. It was heavy. It was iron. I felt its weight. I felt the safety. I was safe. I was inside. The world was outside. The world was bad. The world was violent.

I sat back down. I picked up the bowl. I looked at it. It was beautiful. It was empty. It needed something. It needed water. It needed life. I thought of my wife. She was gone. She had been gone for years. She had died of a fever. Or maybe it was the war. It did not matter. It was the same. Death is death. It is a door. It closes. You do not open it again. I missed her. I missed her hands. They were soft. They were gentle. They were like the clay. I missed her voice. It was low. It was warm. I missed her eyes. They were brown. They were kind. I missed her. I missed her so much. It hurt. It was a sharp pain. It was in my chest. It was in my hands. It was in the clay.

The bell rang a third time. It was different now. It was closer. It was not a warning. It was a command. I stopped my hands. I listened. The sound was clear. It was sharp. It cut the air. I knew what it meant. I had always known. I just did not want to listen. I was a fool. I was a coward. I was a man who loved his work. I loved the clay. I loved the making. I loved the quiet. I loved the stillness. I loved the safety. I was wrong. Safety is a lie. Safety is a trap. Safety is a cage. I was in a cage. I had built it. I had locked the door. I was the jailer. I was the prisoner.

I stood up again. My legs were weak. I felt dizzy. The room spun. I gripped the table. The wood was hard. It was rough. It scraped my hands. I bled. The blood was red. It was hot. It was alive. I looked at the blood. I thought of the men. They were here. They were at the gate. They were breaking it down. I could hear the wood splintering. I could hear the shouts. They were angry. They were cruel. They were hungry. They wanted things. They wanted gold. They wanted silver. They wanted power. They wanted me.

I looked at the bowl. It was still empty. It was still perfect. It was useless. Perfection is useless. Beauty is useless. Art is useless. When the world burns, art is ash. When the world screams, art is silence. I had wasted my life. I had wasted my hands. I had wasted my time. I had loved the wrong thing. I loved the object. I did not love the life. I did not love the people. I did not love the truth. I loved the mask. I loved the lie. I loved the quiet. I was a liar. I was a coward. I was a fool.

The door broke. I heard the crash. It was a loud sound. It was final. The dust fell. The air changed. It smelled of smoke. It smelled of sweat. It smelled of fear. I did not move. I stood still. I was a statue. I was a piece of clay. I was fixed. I was set. I could not run. I could not hide. I could not fight. I was old. I was tired. I was done.

The first man entered. He was tall. He was strong. He had a sword. It was wet. It was red. He looked at me. He did not speak. He did not need to. His eyes said everything. He looked at the bowl. He looked at my hands. He saw the blood. He smiled. It was a cold smile. It was a dead smile. I knew what he wanted. He wanted the bowl. He thought it was gold. He thought I was rich. He was wrong. I was poor. I was empty. I had nothing. I had only the clay. I had only the truth.

He reached for the bowl. I did not stop him. I let him take it. I let him hold it. It was light. It was fragile. It was real. He held it up. He looked at it. He frowned. It was not gold. It was clay. It was just clay. He was confused. He was angry. He threw it. It hit the wall. It broke. It shattered. The pieces scattered. The white shards lay on the floor. They were sharp. They were jagged. They were beautiful.

I picked up a piece. It was sharp. It cut my finger. The blood flowed. It dripped onto the floor. It mixed with the dust. It was red. It was bright. It was alive. I looked at the man. He was still there. He was breathing. He was waiting. He wanted something else. He wanted to kill me. He wanted to end it. He wanted the silence. He wanted the peace. He was like me. He was tired. He was hungry. He was empty. We were the same. We were both broken. We were both empty vessels. We were both waiting to be filled. Or to be emptied.

I looked at the shards. I thought of my wife. She would have loved the shards. She would have seen the beauty in the break. She would have known that breaking is not ending. It is changing. It is becoming. It is life. I did not know that. I thought breaking was death. I thought perfection was life. I was wrong. I was so wrong. I had been wrong for so long. I had been blind. I had been deaf. I had been mute. I had been alone.

The man raised his sword. The steel was cold. It was shiny. It reflected my face. I saw my eyes. They were clear. They were calm. They were empty. I was not afraid. I was not angry. I was not sad. I was free. I was light. I was air. I was nothing. I was everything. I was the clay. I was the bowl. I was the shard. I was the blood. I was the truth.

I closed my eyes. I waited. The sword came down. It was fast. It was sharp. It was silent. I felt nothing. I felt everything. I felt the wind. I felt the sun. I felt the earth. I felt the stars. I felt the time. I felt the life. I felt the love. It was not for her. It was for me. It was for my soul. It was for my self. It was primal. It was deep. It was true. I loved myself. I finally loved myself. I accepted my fate. I embraced my end. I was the ritual. I was the sacrifice. I was the offering. I was the gold.

The world went dark. Then it went bright. Then it went quiet. The bell stopped. The wind stopped. The men stopped. The war stopped. The time stopped. I was gone. I was here. I was there. I was nowhere. I was everywhere. The shards lay on the floor. They were still. They were quiet. They were beautiful. They were dead. They were alive. They were the truth. They were the lie. They were the life. They were the death. They were the same.

I am the potter. I am the bowl. I am the clay. I am the break. I am the silence. I am the sound. I am the light. I am the dark. I am the gold. I am the ash. I am the dust. I am the air. I am the breath. I am the life. I am the death. I am the truth. I am the lie. I am the self. I am the other. I am the one. I am the many. I am the all. I am the nothing.

The bell rang. It was a small sound. Like a coin dropping on stone. I heard it. I did not ignore it. I listened. It was a song. It was a prayer. It was a goodbye. It was a hello. It was a beginning. It was an end. It was a circle. It was a spiral. It was a line. It was a point. It was a dot. It was a star. It was a sun. It was a moon. It was a light. It was a shadow. It was a shape. It was a form. It was a body. It was a soul. It was a spirit. It was a ghost. It was a memory. It was a dream. It was a reality. It was a truth. It was a fact. It was a thing. It was a me.

I am here. I am now. I am real. I am true. I am free. I am loved. I am enough. I am whole. I am complete. I am broken. I am fixed. I am changed. I am the same. I am different. I am new. I am old. I am young. I am dead. I am alive. I am the clay. I am the bowl. I am the shard. I am the blood. I am the gold. I am the ritual. I am the end. I am the beginning. I am the middle. I am the whole. I am the part. I am the self. I am the love. I am the truth. I am the light. I am the dark. I am the silence. I am the sound. I am the life. I am the death. I am the all. I am the nothing. I am the everything. I am the me.

The bell rang. It was quiet. It was soft. It was kind. It was gentle. It was warm. It was bright. It was clear. It was true. It was real. It was here. It was now. It was me. It was us. It was them. It was all. It was nothing. It was everything. It was the end. It was the start. It was the loop. It was the circle. It was the point. It was the dot. It was the star. It was the sun. It was the moon. It was the light. It was the shadow. It was the shape. It was the form. It was the body. It was the soul. It was the spirit. It was the ghost. It was the memory. It was the dream. It was the reality. It was the truth. It was the fact. It was the thing. It was the me.

I am the potter. I am the bowl. I am the clay. I am the break. I am the silence. I am the sound. I am the light. I am the dark. I am the gold. I am the ash. I am the dust. I am the air. I am the breath. I am the life. I am the death. I am the truth. I am the lie. I am the self. I am the other. I am the one. I am the many. I am the all. I am the nothing.