The train moves.

It moves with a shudder.

A deep, bone-rattling groan.

You feel it in your teeth.

In your marrow.

The carriage is a box.

A wooden box.

Pressed tight against others.

The air is thick.

Coal smoke.

Stale sweat.

The scent of wet wool.

It clings to you.

It will not let go.

You sit.

You are the immigrant.

You are the stranger.

Your name is Thomas.

It is a small name.

It means little here.

You hold your bag.

It is heavy.

It is light.

It contains your life.

Or the ruin of it.

The man across from you looks up.

His eyes are hard.

Like flint.

He does not blink.

He stares.

You look away.

You look at the floor.

The wood is scarred.

Kicked by boots.

Smudged by mud.

You are mud.

You are a stain.

The train slows.

It stops.

Silence.

Then the doors open.

Cold air rushes in.

It bites.

It is the bite of a world that does not want you.

You do not move.

You wait.

The man across from you stands.

He wears a coat.

A dark, severe coat.

It is cut sharp.

It is clean.

He looks at you.

His face is a mask.

Indifferent.

He steps out.

The crowd surges.

You are pushed.

Shoulders hit you.

Elbows strike.

You are a thing.

An object.

A piece of cargo.

They shout.

The words are blunt.

Crude.

They do not aim at you.

They aim at the air.

But the air is where you breathe.

You breathe.

You are here.

The train starts again.

The motion is violent.

Jolting.

You grip the seat.

Your knuckles are white.

You are cold.

Your blood is slow.

You think of the house.

The house in the valley.

The door.

The door is the boundary.

The path ends there.

You remember the key.

Iron.

Cold.

You turned it.

The lock clicked.

A sound like a bone breaking.

You opened the door.

You stepped in.

The door closed behind you.

The latch fell.

You were inside.

You were alone.

The walls were bare.

The floor was stone.

The air was still.

You looked for a path.

There was none.

Only the walls.

You walked.

You walked to the center.

You stopped.

You waited.

You thought you had escaped.

You thought you were safe.

The house was your fortress.

The door was your shield.

You were wrong.

The house was a cage.

The door was the lock.

You had locked yourself in.

You had chosen the boundary.

You had chosen the end.

Now you are on the train.

The train is a path.

A long, straight path.

It leads nowhere.

It leads only forward.

And forward is away.

Away from the house.

Away from the silence.

Away from the self.

You are fleeing.

But what are you fleeing?

Not the people.

Not the prejudice.

You are fleeing the truth.

The truth that you are the monster.

The truth that the house knows.

The truth that the walls remember.

You look at your hands.

They are still.

They are clean.

They lie.

The man in the dark coat is gone.

He has vanished.

Or you have imagined him.

He was a mirror.

A reflection.

He showed you what you are.

Not what you wish to be.

He showed you the weight.

The burden.

The sin.

You are the exile.

You are the one who broke the rule.

You crossed the line.

You took what was not yours.

You stole a life.

You stole a soul.

And now you carry it.

In your bag.

In your blood.

It is heavy.

It is light.

It is everything.

The train stops again.

A station.

Small.

Dark.

The lights are dim.

Gaslight.

Flickering.

The shadows dance.

They are alive.

They reach for you.

They touch your face.

They whisper.

Do not go.

Stay.

Face it.

You stand.

Your legs are stiff.

You walk to the door.

You push it open.

The cold hits you.

It is sharper now.

It cuts.

It peels.

You step onto the platform.

The platform is empty.

No one is there.

No one to see.

No one to judge.

No one to hate.

You are free.

You are alone.

The train waits.

It is a beast.

It breathes.

It sleeps.

You look at the tracks.

They stretch into the dark.

They are the path.

The path has no end.

You can only walk.

You can only run.

You can only flee.

But the boundary is inside you.

The wall is in your mind.

You cannot leave it.

You cannot escape it.

You are the house.

You are the door.

You are the lock.

You are the key.

And you are the one who is locked.

You turn back.

You enter the train.

You sit.

You close your eyes.

The train moves.

The shudder returns.

It is in your bones.

It is in your soul.

It is the rhythm of your heart.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

It is the sound of time.

Time does not stop.

Time does not wait.

Time takes you.

It takes you to the end.

The end is the house.

The end is the silence.

The end is the truth.

You will not escape.

You will not conquer.

You will not win.

You will only arrive.

And when you arrive, you will know.

You will know that you were never the victim.

You were the perpetrator.

You were the judge.

You were the executioner.

And you were the dead.

The train moves.

The dark presses in.

The cold bites.

You are still.

You are alone.

You are home.

And home is a prison.

And you are the warden.

And you are the prisoner.

And you are the ghost.

The ghost that cannot rest.

The ghost that cannot leave.

The ghost that is bound.

Bound to the path.

Bound to the boundary.

Bound to the self.

The self that is broken.

The self that is lost.

The self that is gone.

You are no one.

You are nothing.

You are dust.

And dust returns to dust.

But dust remembers.

Dust remembers the shape it had.

Dust remembers the name it bore.

Dust remembers the sin it committed.

You are dust.

And you remember.

And that is your curse.

And that is your fate.

And fate is a chain.

And the chain is unbreakable.

And the chain is cold.

And the chain is tight.

It cuts into your skin.

It cuts into your soul.

It binds you.

It holds you.

It keeps you.

You are held.

You are kept.

You are bound.

To the path.

To the end.

To yourself.

The train moves.

The dark is total.

The cold is absolute.

You are still.

You are gone.

You are here.

You are nowhere.

You are everywhere.

You are the silence.

You are the sound.

You are the life.

You are the death.

You are the truth.

And the truth is this.

You cannot leave.

You cannot hide.

You cannot run.

You can only accept.

You can only yield.

You can only let go.

Let go of the fight.

Let go of the rage.

Let go of the self.

Let go of the name.

Let go of the past.

Let go of the guilt.

Let go of the fear.

Let go.

Let go.

Let go.

The train stops.

The doors open.

The cold rushes in.

It is not cold anymore.

It is neutral.

It is still.

It is peace.

You stand.

You step out.

The platform is empty.

The tracks are dark.

The station is silent.

You are alone.

You are free.

You are bound.

You are home.

You are gone.

The train leaves.

It moves away.

It moves into the dark.

It moves into the night.

It moves into the void.

You watch it go.

You do not follow.

You do not call.

You do not weep.

You stand.

You wait.

You are still.

You are here.

You are the boundary.

You are the path.

You are the end.

And the end is the beginning.

And the beginning is the end.

And the circle is complete.

And the circle is closed.

And the circle is silent.

And the silence is eternal.

And eternity is now.

And now is forever.

And forever is you.

And you are the story.

And the story is over.

And the story is never over.

It continues.

In the dust.

In the dark.

In the silence.

In the memory.

In the bone.

In the marrow.

In the soul.

You are the story.

And the story is true.

And the truth is free.

And freedom is the chain.

And the chain is the key.

And the key is the lock.

And the lock is the door.

And the door is the house.

And the house is you.

And you are the house.

And the house is the grave.

And the grave is the rest.

And rest is the end.

And the end is the start.

And the start is the journey.

And the journey is the train.

And the train is the path.

And the path is the boundary.

And the boundary is the self.

And the self is the ghost.

And the ghost is the truth.

And the truth is the lie.

And the lie is the mask.

And the mask is the face.

And the face is the stranger.

And the stranger is the exile.

And the exile is you.

And you are the stranger.

And the stranger is the ghost.

And the ghost is the truth.

And the truth is the end.

And the end is the beginning.

And the beginning is the now.

And the now is the silence.

And the silence is the end.

You are still.

You are here.

You are gone.

You are home.

The train is gone.

The dark is here.

The cold is here.

You are here.

You are alone.

You are free.

You are bound.

You are the story.

The story ends.

The story begins.

The story is you.

You are the story.

The story is true.

The truth is free.

Free.

Free.

Free.