The coat was grey.

It was a heavy wool thing. Thick. It smelled of damp earth and old smoke. I wore it every day. I did not take it off. Not for sleep. Not for meals. It was warm. It was heavy. It held me together.

My father said it was good wool. He said it would last a lifetime. He bought it at the market in Ashworth. The air there was thin. The factories hummed. A low, constant drone. It vibrated in my teeth. We lived near the mill. The mill never stopped. It ate the light. It ate the sound.

I was seven. I was small. The coat was too big. It swallowed my hands. I walked through the town with my fingers hidden. I could not feel the cold. I could not feel the wind. I only felt the weight. It was a good weight. It kept me grounded.

People looked at me. They did not like the coat. They said it was too big. They said it was strange. They said it was dirty. I did not care. I pulled the collar up. I hid my face. The wool was soft against my neck. It was like a hand. A gentle hand.

My mother was gone. She had left. Or she had died. I did not know. It did not matter. She was gone. My father was there. He was quiet. He worked the machine. His hands were scarred. He did not speak much. He looked at me. His eyes were dark. They were deep. He saw the coat. He saw me inside it.

One night, the sound changed.

The mill drone stopped.

Silence fell.

It was heavy. It was thick. It pressed against the walls. I felt it in the coat. The wool tightened. It squeezed. I was afraid. I did not sleep. I sat by the window. The glass was cold. I watched the street. The street was empty. The gas lamps flickered. Then they went out. One by one.

Darkness took the town.

I heard a knock.

It was soft. It was polite.

I went to the door.

I opened it.

No one was there.

Only the wind. It whispered. It called my name. It sounded like my mother. It sounded like the wool.

I closed the door. I locked it. I went back to my bed. The coat pulled at me. It wanted to be seen. It wanted to be known.

Days passed. The silence stayed. The mill did not start again. The town was quiet. Too quiet. People stopped going out. They stayed in their homes. They pulled their curtains. They hid.

My father worked. He had to. He had to pay the rent. He went to the mill. He came home. He was tired. He was pale. He looked at me. He touched the coat. He frowned.

"It is too heavy," he said.

I shook my head.

"It keeps me safe," I said.

He looked at me. His face was sad. He wanted to take it off. He could not. He was afraid. He was afraid of what was inside. He was afraid of what I was.

I was not afraid.

I was comfortable.

The coat grew.

It did not stretch. It did not loosen. It grew. It added inches. It added weight. It wrapped around me. It covered my feet. It covered my head. I could not see. I could not breathe. But I did not need to. The wool breathed for me. It gave me air. It gave me warmth. It gave me peace.

My father tried to cut it.

He took scissors. He tried to cut the sleeve. The metal did not touch the wool. The scissors bent. They snapped. He dropped them. He stepped back. His hands shook.

"What is it?" he asked.

I did not answer.

I did not know.

The coat was me.

I was the coat.

We were one.

The dark came again.

It came from the street.

It moved. It flowed. It was like smoke. It was like water. It poured into the house. It went under the door. It crept up the stairs.

My father stood in the hallway.

He held a lamp. The flame was small. It was weak. The dark pushed against it. The flame shrank. It turned blue.

"Run," he said.

His voice was thin. It was broken.

I did not run.

I stood in the room. I pulled the collar higher. I felt the dark touch me. It was cold. It was sharp. It wanted to get in. It wanted to get under the wool.

It could not.

The wool was a wall.

The dark hit the coat. It splashed. It hissed. It tried to seep through. It failed. The coat held. The coat grew stronger. It became hard. It became stone.

My father looked at me.

He saw the dark. He saw the coat. He saw the truth.

He stopped running.

He stopped fighting.

He walked to me.

He touched the coat.

He closed his eyes.

He wept.

He did not try to cut it again. He did not try to take it off. He accepted it. He accepted me. He accepted the weight.

He sat on the floor.

He put his arm around me.

He held me tight.

The dark surrounded us.

It filled the room.

It filled the house.

It filled the town.

I could not see.

I could not hear.

I only felt the wool.

It was warm.

It was safe.

It was everything.

The dark lasted a long time.

Or it was a short time.

Time did not matter.

Time was gone.

There was only the coat.

There was only us.

My father’s breathing slowed.

It became shallow.

It became quiet.

It stopped.

I did not move.

I did not cry.

I felt the weight increase.

It was not just my weight.

It was his.

He was inside the coat now.

He was part of the wool.

He was part of the me.

The dark receded.

It pulled back.

It went out the door.

It went down the street.

It went into the night.

The light came back.

The sun rose.

It was pale.

It was weak.

It shone through the window.

It hit the coat.

The coat shone.

It was no longer grey.

It was white.

It was bright.

It was blinding.

I looked at my father.

He was still.

He was still.

He was gone.

But he was not gone.

He was in the wool.

He was in the weight.

He was in the warmth.

I stood up.

I walked to the door.

I opened it.

The street was quiet.

The air was clean.

The factories were silent.

The town was empty.

People were coming out.

They looked at me.

They saw the white coat.

They saw the light.

They did not speak.

They did not move.

They looked at me with fear.

They looked at me with awe.

They knew.

They knew what I was.

They knew what the coat was.

They knew that justice had come.

But it was not their justice.

It was not right.

It was not good.

It was heavy.

It was eternal.

I walked down the street.

The coat dragged on the ground.

It was long.

It was wide.

It covered my feet.

I could not feel the pavement.

I could not feel the cold.

I could not feel the world.

I only felt the weight.

I only felt the love.

I only felt the loss.

I walked on.

I did not stop.

I did not look back.

The town shrank behind me.

The light faded.

The white coat remained.

It was my skin.

It was my soul.

It was my home.

It was my prison.

It was my peace.

I am still here.

I am still wearing it.

It is still warm.

It is still heavy.

It is still me.

The wool whispers.

It tells me stories.

It tells me of my father.

It tells me of the dark.

It tells me of the silence.

It tells me that I am safe.

It tells me that I am alone.

It tells me that I am enough.

I do not want to take it off.

I do not want to be light.

I do not want to be free.

I want to be heavy.

I want to be grounded.

I want to be held.

The coat holds me.

It will always hold me.

It is the only thing that remains.

It is the only thing that matters.

I am the child in the white coat.

I am the ghost in the wool.

I am the weight on the shoulder.

I am the silence in the room.

I am the end of the tale.

I am the beginning of the wait.

I walk.

I wait.

I wear the coat.

The wool is soft.

The wool is hard.

The wool is true.

The world is far.

The world is cold.

The coat is warm.

The coat is mine.

The coat is us.

We are together.

We are one.

We are safe.

We are home.

The sun sets.

The dark comes.

I do not fear it.

I welcome it.

I am ready.

The coat is ready.

We are ready.

The end is near.

The end is here.

I am here.

I am in the coat.

I am in the white.

I am in the silence.

I am in the love.

I am in the loss.

I am in the weight.

I am in the truth.

The truth is heavy.

The truth is white.

The truth is me.

I am the tale.

The tale is pale.

The tale is long.

The tale is done.

I am done.

I am here.

I am safe.

The coat is warm.

The coat is heavy.

The coat is mine.

I will not take it off.

I will not let go.

I will not be free.

I will be held.

I will be kept.

I will be loved.

I will be lost.

I will be found.

I will be the coat.

I will be the child.

I will be the ghost.

I will be the silence.

I will be the end.

I will be the beginning.

I will be the white.

I will be the pale.

I will be the tale.

I am here.

I am in the coat.

The coat is warm.

The coat is heavy.

The coat is me.