The rain hit the glass. It sounded like coins. I sat on the floor. My back was against the wall. The house was cold. It was always cold. I had come back to find something. Or to bury it. I wasn’t sure anymore. The years had worn the edges off my memory. Like stone in a river. Smooth. Round. Useless.

I am a soldier. I have been a soldier for a long time. But this was different. This was home. The walls were white. The floorboards were oak. They creaked when I moved. I listened to them. I knew every sound this house could make. I knew the groan of the kitchen door. The sigh of the chimney. I knew the silence that lived in the attic. I had spent twenty years running from it. Now I was standing in the center of it.

There was no one else here. Or so I thought. The witness was sitting in the chair. He didn’t speak. He never spoke. He just watched. His eyes were dark. They held my face. They held my fear. He was the mirror. I could see myself in him. Broken. Tired. Old. He had seen me fight. He had seen me bleed. He had seen me break. And he said nothing. He just let the truth settle. Like dust.

I stood up. My legs shook. I walked to the hall. The mirror was there. The glass was cracked. A single line ran down the center. It looked like a scar. I touched it. My finger traced the jagged line. I remembered the day it broke. I remember the sound. It was sharp. It was final. I had thrown something. I had hit the glass. I had broken the reflection. I had broken the past. Or so I told myself.

But the past does not break. It waits. It wears you down. It wears the world down. It is patient. It is the blade that does not cut. It just erodes. It turns the sharp into the soft. It turns the strong into the weak. I looked at the crack. I saw my face behind it. Distorted. Wrong. I tried to fix it. I couldn’t. The glass was gone. Only the shape remained.

I went to the kitchen. The table was set. Two plates. Two glasses. The food was cold. It had been there for days. Maybe weeks. I don’t know. Time was strange here. Time was a loop. I sat down. I picked up the fork. It was heavy. It felt like a weapon. I held it in my hand. I felt the weight of it. The cold metal. The silence. I thought of my friend. Thomas. He was dead. He had been dead for a long time. But he was here. In the chair. In the witness. In the silence. He was the reason I came. He was the reason I stayed. He was the reason I broke.

I remembered the night we left. The rain was heavy. The car was old. The engine coughed. We were driving away. From the war. From the blood. From the noise. We were going home. To this house. To this life. Thomas said we would be okay. He said we would find peace. He said the past was gone. He was wrong. The past was in the air. It was in the rain. It was in the glass. It was in the silence. We couldn’t escape it. We were born into it. We were trapped by it.

I put the fork down. I walked to the window. The rain was still falling. The world outside was gray. The trees were black. The road was empty. I looked at the glass. I saw my reflection. I saw the crack. I saw the scar. I tried to look away. I couldn’t. The glass held me. The witness held me. The past held me. I was caught. I was trapped. I was alone.

I went to the bedroom. The bed was made. The sheets were white. They were clean. They were new. I lay down. I closed my eyes. I tried to sleep. I couldn’t. The house was awake. The house was watching. The house was waiting. I heard a sound. A creak. A groan. It came from the attic. I knew what it was. It was the memory. It was the truth. It was the thing I had hidden. I had locked it away. I had buried it. I had forgotten it. But it was here. It was alive. It was breathing.

I got up. I walked to the stairs. The wood was cold under my feet. I climbed. Step by step. Step by step. The air got colder. The light got dimmer. The silence got louder. I reached the door. The attic door. It was locked. I knew the key was in my pocket. I felt for it. My hand shook. I found the key. It was small. It was cold. It was sharp. I put it in the lock. I turned it. The lock clicked. The door opened.

The attic was dark. The dust was thick. The air was stale. I stepped in. I closed the door behind me. I stood in the center. I looked around. There was a box. It was old. It was wooden. It was covered in dust. I walked to it. I knelt down. I touched the lid. I didn’t open it. I didn’t need to. I knew what was inside. I knew what I had put there. I knew what I had hidden. I knew what I had betrayed.

The box was a mirror. A real mirror. Not the cracked one in the hall. This one was whole. It was clear. It was perfect. I had hidden it here. I had hidden it because I couldn’t look at it. I couldn’t look at the truth. I couldn’t look at myself. I had broken the other mirror because I couldn’t stand the reflection. I had broken the past because I couldn’t face the present. I had broken the life because I couldn’t face the death.

I opened the box. I lifted the mirror. It was heavy. It was cold. I held it in my hands. I looked into it. I saw my face. I saw my eyes. I saw my soul. It was dark. It was empty. It was full of blood. It was full of guilt. It was full of Thomas. I saw him. He was standing behind me. He was looking at me. He was smiling. He was sad. He was gone.

I dropped the mirror. It hit the floor. It didn’t break. It stayed whole. It stayed clear. It stayed true. I sat on the floor. I held my head. I cried. I cried for Thomas. I cried for myself. I cried for the years. I cried for the war. I cried for the silence. I cried for the rain. I cried for the glass. I cried for the loop. I couldn’t stop. The tears ran down my face. They fell on the mirror. They blurred the image. They washed the truth away. For a moment. Just a moment. I was free.

Then the tears dried. The image cleared. The truth returned. I looked at the mirror. I looked at myself. I saw the crack in my soul. I saw the scar on my heart. I saw the blood on my hands. I couldn’t hide it. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t escape. I was here. I was home. I was trapped. I was free. I was lost. I was found. I was dead. I was alive.

I stood up. I picked up the mirror. I carried it down the stairs. I walked to the hall. I walked to the kitchen. I sat at the table. I put the mirror in front of me. I looked at it. I saw the witness. I saw Thomas. I saw myself. I saw the past. I saw the present. I saw the future. They were all the same. They were all one. They were all the loop. They were all the blade. They were all the erosion. They were all the silence.

I picked up the fork. I held it in my hand. I looked at the mirror. I looked at the witness. I said nothing. I did nothing. I just sat. I just waited. I just watched. The rain hit the glass. It sounded like coins. It sounded like time. It sounded like life. It sounded like death. It sounded like truth. It was the only sound that mattered. It was the only sound that was real. It was the only sound that was true.

I am a soldier. I have been a soldier for a long time. I am a witness. I have been a witness for a long time. I am a ghost. I have been a ghost for a long time. I am home. I have been home for a long time. I am here. I have been here for a long time. I am me. I have been me for a long time.

The rain stopped. The sky was gray. The air was still. The house was quiet. The mirror was clear. The truth was visible. The past was present. The future was now. The loop was closed. The blade was sheathed. The erosion was done. The silence was broken. The witness was gone. The soldier was free.

I stood up. I walked to the door. I opened it. The light came in. The air came in. The world came in. I stepped out. I walked into the light. I walked into the air. I walked into the world. I walked into the rain. I walked into the silence. I walked into the truth. I walked into the loop. I walked into the blade. I walked into the erosion. I walked into the peace.

I am free. I am here. I am home. I am me. I am gone. I am alive. I am dead. I am the witness. I am the soldier. I am the ghost. I am the rain. I am the glass. I am the mirror. I am the crack. I am the scar. I am the blood. I am the truth. I am the silence. I am the loop. I am the blade. I am the erosion. I am the peace.

The end.