“Look at it.”

I looked.

It was a red coat.

My father’s coat.

Hanging on the hook by the door.

The door was locked.

I pushed it.

It didn’t move.

I pulled.

It didn’t move.

I kicked it.

The wood splintered.

The lock snapped.

The door swung open.

The hallway was dark.

The air smelled of dust.

And old wool.

I walked in.

My feet made no sound.

The carpet was thick.

It swallowed the noise.

I went to the coat.

I touched the sleeve.

The fabric was rough.

It was stiff with age.

I took it down.

It was heavy.

Heavier than I remembered.

I put it on.

It fit.

Perfectly.

The collar bit into my neck.

I closed my eyes.

I could smell him.

Tobacco.

Soap.

Fear.

I opened my eyes.

The room changed.

The shadows moved.

They reached for me.

I felt a cold hand on my shoulder.

I spun around.

No one was there.

Just the coat.

Hanging on the hook.

I was standing in the middle of the room.

Holding nothing.

My hands were empty.

I looked down.

I was wearing my own shirt.

The red coat was on the hook.

I stared at it.

It stared back.

It was smiling.

I didn’t laugh.

I walked to the window.

The glass was fogged.

I wiped it.

Outside, the garden was white.

Snow.

But it was summer.

I looked closer.

The snow was falling up.

It rose from the ground.

It climbed the trees.

It hung in the air.

Like dust.

Like ash.

I touched the glass.

It was hot.

I pulled my hand back.

A mark remained.

A red print.

I looked at my hand.

It was clean.

I looked at the coat.

It was gone.

The hook was empty.

I turned to the door.

It was closed.

I opened it.

The hallway was bright.

Sunlight poured in.

The air smelled of rain.

I walked out.

I was in the garden.

The grass was green.

The flowers were blooming.

I was in my mother’s garden.

I ran to the house.

The front door was open.

My mother was in the kitchen.

She was washing dishes.

The water ran.

Splash.

Splash.

Splash.

“Mom,” I said.

She didn’t turn.

“Mom.”

She stopped.

The water kept running.

She turned slowly.

Her face was blank.

Her eyes were wide.

She held a plate.

It was red.

Like the coat.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Her voice was flat.

It had no warmth.

It was like stone.

“I’m your son,” I said.

I stepped forward.

She backed away.

The plate fell.

It didn’t break.

It bounced.

Clatter.

Clatter.

Clatter.

She dropped it.

She ran.

She went up the stairs.

I followed.

The stairs creaked.

Each step sounded like a bone breaking.

I reached the top.

The hallway was long.

The doors were all closed.

I knocked on the first one.

“Hello?”

Silence.

I knocked on the second.

Silence.

I knocked on the third.

A voice answered.

“Go away.”

It was my father’s voice.

I knew it.

I opened the door.

The room was empty.

There was a chair.

There was a table.

There was a mirror.

I looked in the mirror.

I saw myself.

I was wearing the red coat.

I touched my chest.

The fabric was there.

It was real.

I looked at the chair.

It was empty.

I sat down.

The chair was cold.

I waited.

The door opened.

My father walked in.

He was young.

He was smiling.

He looked at me.

His smile faded.

His face changed.

It became hard.

It became cruel.

“You’re not him,” he said.

I shook my head.

“I am.”

“Liar,” he said.

He raised his hand.

He struck me.

The blow landed.

It hurt.

But not on my face.

It hurt in my chest.

It hurt in the coat.

The coat rippled.

Like water.

I gasped.

I stood up.

My father was gone.

The room was empty.

The mirror was cracked.

I saw my reflection.

It was bleeding.

Not blood.

Red thread.

It came from my mouth.

It hung in the air.

I tried to speak.

No sound came out.

I tried to scream.

Only thread.

I ripped it out.

It snapped.

I was free.

I ran.

I ran down the stairs.

I ran to the door.

I ran into the street.

The street was empty.

The houses were old.

The windows were dark.

I walked.

I didn’t know where.

I just walked.

The sun set.

The sky turned purple.

Then black.

The stars came out.

They were bright.

Too bright.

They watched me.

I felt watched.

I felt known.

I stopped.

I looked up.

A star fell.

It landed in my hand.

It was warm.

It was light.

It was a seed.

I put it in my pocket.

I walked on.

I reached the park.

The benches were empty.

The trees were bare.

I sat down.

I took out the seed.

I looked at it.

It glowed.

I put it in my mouth.

I swallowed it.

It burned.

It went down.

It settled in my stomach.

I felt a pull.

A strong pull.

I looked up.

The sky was opening.

A door appeared.

It was made of light.

It was huge.

It was beautiful.

I stood up.

I walked toward it.

The grass turned to glass.

The air turned to fire.

I didn’t feel pain.

I felt calm.

I reached the door.

I touched it.

It opened.

I stepped through.

I was in a room.

The room was white.

There was a table.

There was a chair.

There was a figure.

It sat in the chair.

It had no face.

It had no body.

It was just a shape.

It was red.

It was the shape of a coat.

I looked at it.

It looked at me.

I knew who it was.

It was my father.

It was my mother.

It was me.

It was the lie.

I felt anger.

I felt hate.

I raised my hand.

I struck the shape.

It didn’t move.

I struck it again.

It didn’t move.

I struck it a third time.

It shattered.

It broke into pieces.

Red shards.

They flew out.

They hit me.

They cut me.

I fell.

I lay on the white floor.

The shards surrounded me.

They glowed.

They pulsed.

Like a heartbeat.

I looked at them.

I saw my life.

I saw my mistakes.

I saw my lies.

I saw my fear.

I saw my love.

It was all there.

In the red glass.

I reached out.

I picked up a shard.

It was sharp.

It cut my finger.

Blood dripped.

Red on white.

Red on red.

I laughed.

I cried.

I stood up.

I gathered the shards.

I put them in my pocket.

I walked to the door.

It was gone.

I was alone.

The room was empty.

I was alone.

The silence was loud.

I closed my eyes.

I waited.

I felt a touch.

On my shoulder.

I opened my eyes.

I was in the garden.

The grass was green.

The flowers were blooming.

My mother was there.

She was holding a red coat.

She was smiling.

It was a real smile.

It was warm.

It was kind.

She held the coat out to me.

“Take it,” she said.

I looked at her.

I looked at the coat.

I took it.

I put it on.

It fit.

It was light.

It was soft.

It was mine.

I looked at her.

She was gone.

The garden was empty.

The coat was on me.

I looked at the sky.

It was blue.

It was clear.

It was summer.

I walked away.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t need to.

The coat was with me.

It was part of me.

I was free.

I was whole.

I was home.

I walked on.

The road stretched out.

It was long.

It was hard.

But I was strong.

I was ready.

I was alive.

I kept walking.

The sun rose.

The day began.

I was here.

I was real.

I was me.