"You are done," the doctor said.

He did not look at you. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the dust motes dancing in the single beam of sunlight that cut through the boarded-up window. He looked at the clock. The clock ticked. The tick was loud. The tick was a hammer. The tick was a blade.

"Done for what?" you asked.

Your voice was small. It was a dry leaf. It rustled in the room.

"Done for the work," he said.

He turned. His eyes were wet. His eyes were glass. He was old. His hands were thin. They shook like leaves in a storm.

"The Society has voted," he said.

You nodded. You knew. You had known for weeks. You had known when the letters stopped. You had known when the silence grew teeth.

"Pack your things," he said.

"I have nothing to pack."

"You have your coat."

You looked at the coat. It hung on the hook. It was brown. It was worn. It smelled of damp wool and coal smoke. It was your armor. It was your skin.

"I am not going anywhere," you said.

"You must go. The sickness is in the air. It is in the walls. It is in you."

You laughed. It was a short sound. It was a bark.

"Look at me," you said. "Am I sick?"

He did not answer. He picked up his bag. He picked up his hat. He did not look at you again. He walked to the door. The door creaked. The creak was a sigh.

"Wait," you said.

He stopped. His back was to you. His shoulders were hunched. He looked like a question mark. He looked like a broken thing.

"What?" he said.

"Where do I go?"

He turned. His face was stone. His face was iron.

"Nowhere," he said. "Go into the wild. Go into the dark. Go into the fog."

"And when I find them?"

"Find what?"

"The voices. The ones that call."

He shook his head. It was a small shake. It was a defeat.

"They are not there," he said. "You made them. You made them to survive."

"I know."

"Then leave them. Leave them to the grave."

"You do not understand."

"I understand more than you think."

He opened the door. The wind rushed in. The wind was cold. The wind was sharp. It carried the smell of rain. It carried the smell of decay. It carried the smell of iron.

"Go," he said.

He closed the door. The lock clicked. The click was final. The click was a bone breaking.

You stood there. You stood in the silence. The silence was heavy. The silence was thick. It pressed against your ears. It pressed against your chest. It pressed against your mind.

You put on your coat. You buttoned it to the neck. You pulled the collar up. You covered your throat. You covered your pulse. You covered the place where the words lived.

You walked out. You walked into the street. The street was wet. The street was slick. The cobblestones shone. The gas lamps buzzed. The buzz was a hum. The hum was a hymn.

You walked. You walked fast. You walked hard. Your boots hit the stone. The sound was a drum. The sound was a heartbeat.

The city was gray. The sky was gray. The buildings were gray. The people were gray. They wore gray coats. They wore gray hats. They walked with gray eyes. They looked at you. They looked through you. They did not see you. They did not see the fire in you. They did not see the storm in you.

You left the city. You left the streets. You left the lights. You walked to the edge. You walked to the line. You walked to the place where the paved road ended. You walked to the place where the dirt began.

The road turned to mud. The mud was brown. The mud was black. It sucked at your feet. It pulled at your legs. It wanted to keep you. It wanted to hold you. You kicked free. You kicked hard. You did not stop. You could not stop.

The fog came. It came fast. It came thick. It swallowed the trees. It swallowed the sky. It swallowed the world. You were in it. You were in the white. You were in the nothing.

You walked. You walked on. Your legs burned. Your lungs burned. Your heart burned. You were on fire. You were ash. You were smoke.

You walked for hours. You walked for days. You did not know the time. You did not know the day. You did not know the night. It was all one. It was all dark. It was all light.

You found the cabin. It was small. It was crooked. It was made of wood. The wood was old. The wood was dead. It leaned to one side. It leaned like a tired man.

You knocked. You knocked hard. You knocked loud.

No answer.

You pushed the door. The door opened. It creaked. The creak was a groan.

Inside was dark. Inside was cold. Inside was empty.

You lit a match. The match flared. The light was yellow. The light was weak. It showed the room. The room was bare. A table. A chair. A bed. A stove.

You put the match out. The darkness returned. The darkness was total. The darkness was absolute.

You sat on the bed. The bed was hard. The bed was cold. You sat. You waited.

The voice came.

It came from the corner. It came from the wall. It came from the floor.

"Here," it said.

You froze. Your blood froze. Your breath froze.

"Here," it said again.

You stood up. Your legs shook. Your hands shook.

"Who are you?" you said.

"I am the one you seek," the voice said.

"Show me."

"I cannot show you. I am not a thing. I am a sound. I am a memory. I am the truth."

"What truth?"

"The truth of your choice."

"I chose to stay."

"No. You chose to leave. You chose to fight. You chose to burn."

"I chose to find you."

"You chose to find yourself."

The voice was soft. The voice was kind. The voice was sad.

"Is it over?" you asked.

"Yes. It is over."

"Did I win?"

"You did not win. You lost. You lost everything. You lost the world. You lost the people. You lost the life."

"But I am here."

"You are here. But you are alone. You are empty. You are a shell."

The voice faded. The voice went. The silence returned.

You stood there. You stood in the dark. You stood in the cold.

You looked at your hands. Your hands were bare. Your hands were empty. You had nothing. You had no tools. You had no weapons. You had no words.

You reached into your pocket. You pulled out the photograph. It was faded. It was torn. It was yellow.

It was your wife. She was young. She was smiling. She was looking at you. She was looking at the camera. She was looking at the future.

She was gone. She was gone a long time ago. She was gone in the city. She was gone in the smoke. She was gone in the fire.

You held the photo. You held it tight. You held it against your chest. You held it against your heart.

You did not speak. You did not weep. You did not cry. You did not scream.

You sat down. You sat on the floor. You sat in the dirt. You sat in the dark.

You waited for the end. You waited for the death. You waited for the peace.

But the end did not come. The death did not come. The peace did not come.

You were alive. You were still alive.

You stood up. You walked to the door. You opened the door.

The fog was still there. The fog was thick. The fog was white.

You stepped out. You stepped into the fog. You stepped into the unknown.

You walked. You walked on. You walked into the wild. You walked into the dark. You walked into the light.

You did not look back. You could not look back. There was nothing to see. There was nothing to return to.

You were the storm. You were the fire. You were the ash.

You were the choice.

And the choice was yours.

And the choice was yours.

And the choice was yours.