The rain did not fall. It stood.

A grey curtain. A wall of water. We rode through it. The horses screamed.

"Look," I said.

I looked.

The road was gone. The world was gone. Only the mud. And the horse. And the coat.

I was a sergeant. I was old. My knees were stone. I could not feel my hands. I was dying. I knew it. The time was done. I had fought the years. I had won. And now I lost.

The horse stopped.

It stood in the middle of the void. The rain hammered its back. It shook its head. Water flew like sparks.

"Forward," I whispered.

The horse did not move. It looked at me. Its eyes were wide. White. Empty.

I reached for the reins. My fingers were stiff. I pulled. The leather bit into my palm. Pain. Good. Pain meant I was still here.

"Move," I commanded.

The horse kicked.

I fell.

The mud swallowed me. Cold. Dark. I lay there. The rain beat my face. I could not breathe. The air was thick. It tasted of iron.

I tried to stand. I could not. My legs were wood.

The horse turned. It walked away.

It did not look back.

I lay in the ditch. The water rose. It covered my boots. My knees. My waist. I screamed. No sound came out.

Then I saw it.

A coat.

Hanging on a branch.

It was black. Long. It moved in the wind. No, not wind. It moved on its own.

I stared.

It was my coat. The one I wore in the war. The one I burned.

I remembered the fire. The smell of smoke. The way the wool curled. I had burned it to be free. To leave the past behind.

It was here.

I crawled. The mud sucked at my limbs. I dragged myself. Inch by inch. Toward the tree.

The coat swayed. It waited.

I reached out. My hand touched the fabric.

It was warm.

It was dry.

I pulled it off the branch. It was heavy. So heavy.

I put it on.

The rain stopped hitting me.

I was dry.

I was warm.

I stood up.

The horse was gone. The road was gone. The world was gone.

Only me. And the coat.

I walked.

I walked for days. I did not know where. I did not care. The coat fit me. It was not my size. It was too large. It hung from my shoulders like wings.

I met a man.

He was old. His face was a map of lines. He sat by a fire in a cave. The fire was small. Blue.

"Who are you?" he asked.

His voice was like grinding stones.

"I am a man," I said.

He looked at me. He looked at the coat.

"You wear the skin of the dead," he said.

I did not answer.

He laughed. A dry, cracking sound.

"It eats you," he said. "The skin. It eats your years."

I touched the collar. The wool was soft. It felt like skin.

"I am free," I said.

The man shook his head.

"Freedom is a lie," he said. "The skin binds. The more you wear it, the less you are."

He pointed to the fire.

"Take it off," he said. "Burn it. Be yourself."

I looked at the fire. The flames danced.

I looked at the coat.

It was beautiful. It was powerful. I could feel the strength of the men who wore it before me. I was not just me. I was them. I was the army. I was the law. I was the order.

I did not take it off.

I left the man. I walked on.

I met a woman.

She was young. Her hair was gold. She stood in a field of white flowers. The flowers were tall. They reached her waist.

She held a baby.

She looked at me. She smiled.

"Come here," she said.

Her voice was sweet. Like honey.

I walked toward her. The coat billowed behind me.

She took my hand.

She led me to a tree. A great oak.

"Sit," she said.

I sat.

She took the baby. She placed it in my lap.

The baby was warm. It looked at me. Its eyes were dark. Deep.

"It is your son," she said.

I frowned.

"I have no son," I said.

She smiled.

"You will," she said.

She touched the coat. Her fingers trailed down the sleeve.

"It is heavy," she said.

I looked at her.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it is you," she said.

I did not understand.

She leaned in. She kissed my cheek.

"Let it go," she whispered.

I looked at the baby. The baby cried.

The sound was sharp. It cut the air.

I looked at the coat.

I looked at the woman.

I looked at the baby.

I felt the weight. It was not the wool. It was the memory. It was the pain. It was the blood.

I had fought the time. I had tried to conquer the aging. I had tried to stay young. I had tried to be strong.

The coat gave me strength. But it took my life.

The woman stood up. She held the baby.

"Come with me," she said.

"I cannot," I said.

"Why?"

"I must go on."

She looked at me. Her eyes were sad.

"You are already gone," she said.

She turned. She walked away.

The flowers rustled.

I was alone.

The rain began again.

But it did not hit me.

I was dry.

I was warm.

I was safe.

But I was not me.

I walked.

The coat grew heavier.

It clung to me.

It wrapped around my arms.

It wrapped around my legs.

It wrapped around my neck.

I could not breathe.

I tried to pull it off.

My hands were gone.

My arms were gone.

Only the coat remained.

It stood in the rain.

It was empty.

It was full.

It was everything.

It was nothing.

The wind blew.

The coat danced.

It was free.

I was not.

I was the dust.

I was the mud.

I was the time.

The coat was the master.

I was the servant.

I had wanted to conquer the years.

The years had conquered me.

I had wanted to be free.

Freedom had eaten me.

The coat was the truth.

The coat was the lie.

The coat was the end.

I closed my eyes.

I felt the rain on my face.

I felt the cold in my bones.

I felt the life leaving me.

It was fast.

It was slow.

It was quiet.

The coat swayed.

It waited.

For the next one.

For the next man.

For the next soul.

I was gone.

The coat remained.

It stood in the grey.

It stood in the silence.

It stood in the rain.

It was black.

It was long.

It was dry.

It was warm.

It was me.

It was not me.

It was the price.

The price of power.

The price of time.

The price of freedom.

The price of love.

The baby.

The woman.

The man.

The fire.

The road.

The horse.

The rain.

All gone.

Only the coat.

Only the coat.

I remember the name.

My name.

It was in the coat.

It was in the threads.

It was in the wool.

I was the coat.

The coat was me.

We were one.

We were free.

We were trapped.

We were dead.

We were alive.

The rain stopped.

The sun came out.

It was bright.

It was hard.

It burned.

The coat shone.

It was black.

It was gold.

It was light.

I was light.

I was gone.

The coat stood.

It waited.

It was patient.

It was cruel.

It was kind.

It was the end.

It was the beginning.

It was the middle.

It was everything.

The wind picked up.

The coat moved.

It stepped forward.

It took my first step.

It took my second step.

It took my last step.

It walked.

It walked on.

It walked into the fog.

It walked into the dark.

It walked into the light.

It walked into the time.

It walked into the years.

It walked into the age.

It walked into the death.

It walked into the life.

It walked into the me.

It walked into the you.

It walked into the us.

It walked into the all.

The coat was the world.

The world was the coat.

We are all coats.

We are all skins.

We are all shells.

We are all prisons.

We are all freedoms.

We are all prices.

We are all debts.

We are all payments.

We are all ends.

We are all beginnings.

We are all middles.

We are all lives.

We are all deaths.

We are all ghosts.

We are all spirits.

We are all souls.

We are all coats.

The coat stood.

The coat waited.

The coat smiled.

The coat spoke.

"Come," it said.

"Come," it said.

"Come," it said.

I came.

I am here.

I am the coat.

I am the rain.

I am the mud.

I am the road.

I am the horse.

I am the man.

I am the woman.

I am the baby.

I am the fire.

I am the tree.

I am the field.

I am the flower.

I am the wind.

I am the sun.

I am the light.

I am the dark.

I am the time.

I am the age.

I am the death.

I am the life.

I am the freedom.

I am the price.

I am the end.

I am the beginning.

I am the middle.

I am the all.

I am the coat.