I woke with the taste of ash in my mouth.

It was cold. The air bit through my shirt. I lay on the grass. It was wet. My name is Thomas. I remember that. I do not remember why I am here. I do not remember how I got here.

I sat up. My head throbbed. A dull, heavy pain. Like a stone behind my eyes. I looked around. There was nothing. Just grass. And trees. And a grey sky. It was a field. A large, open field. The grass was high. It swayed in a wind that I could not feel.

"Thomas?"

The voice came from the left. I turned. A man stood there. He was tall. He wore a long coat. It was dark. It looked old. It looked wet.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice sounded thin. It was not my voice. It was small.

"I know you," the man said. He did not smile. His face was pale. His eyes were deep. They were dark holes in his face. "You have always known me."

"I don't know you."

"You do. We are friends. We have been friends for a long time."

"Friends?" I stood up. My legs shook. I gripped the grass. It was cold. It was sharp. "I don't have friends. I am alone."

The man stepped closer. He moved slowly. Like he was walking through water. "That is what you think. That is what you want to believe. But you are not alone. You are with me."

"I am not with you. I am in a field. I am awake."

"Are you?" He tilted his head. "Close your eyes. Look inside. What do you see?"

I closed my eyes. I saw dark. I saw a room. A small room. There was a bed. There was a window. The window was barred. I remembered the bars. I remembered the cold.

"Open your eyes," the man said.

I opened them. The field was still there. The man was still there.

"Where is the cell?" I asked.

"It is gone. You left it. You broke the door. You ran."

"I did not run."

"You did. You ran until your lungs burned. You ran until the city was far away. You ran into the woods. And then you ran into the field."

"I don't remember."

"Memory is a liar, Thomas. It protects you. It hides the pain. But the pain is real. The pain is here."

I looked at my hands. They were clean. But they were trembling. I looked at the ground. There was a crack in the earth. A long, thin line. It went into the soil. It looked like a wound.

"What is that?" I pointed.

"The truth," the man said. "It is breaking open. You cannot keep it closed anymore."

I walked toward the crack. The man walked with me. We did not speak. We walked in silence. The grass rustled under our feet. It sounded like whispering.

I stopped at the crack. I knelt down. I touched the edge. The soil was loose. It crumbled. I dug with my fingers. I did not know why. I just wanted to see what was underneath.

"Stop," the man said.

"I have to see."

"You do not want to see. You want to forget."

"I cannot forget. It hurts. It hurts all the time."

"Then let it go. Let it break. Let it shatter. You are holding it together. You are the wall. You are the prison. And you are the prisoner."

I dug deeper. My fingers bled. I did not care. The blood mixed with the dirt. It turned black.

I saw something. It was a stone. It was large. It was grey. It was smooth. It was shaped like a heart. But it was not a heart. It was a piece of the wall. I knew it. I knew it from the cell. I had chipped it off. I had kept it. I had hidden it in my pocket.

I pulled it out. It was heavy. It was cold. It was cracked down the middle.

"This is it," I said.

"Yes."

"I kept it. I thought if I kept it, I could fix it. I thought if I fixed it, I could go back."

"You cannot go back. The wall is down. The cell is empty. You are free."

"Free?" I laughed. It was a dry, broken sound. "I am not free. I am lost. I am in the field. I am in the dark."

"The dark is not real. The light is not real. Only the pain is real. And the pain is yours. You must carry it. You must carry it until it is no longer pain. Until it is just stone. Until it is just part of the ground."

I looked at the man. "Who are you?"

"I am the part of you that stays. I am the part that does not run. I am the part that remembers."

I felt a surge of anger. I threw the stone. It hit the ground. It bounced. It rolled. It stopped.

"You are lying," I said. "You are a ghost. You are a dream. I am sick. I am in a hospital. I am in a bed. I am not here."

The man did not move. He did not blink.

"Look," he said.

I looked. The field was changing. The grass was turning to dust. The trees were shrinking. The sky was darkening. The world was falling apart.

"No," I said. "Stop it."

"It is not happening. It is already done. You broke the world. You broke the wall. You broke yourself. And now you are here. In the space between. In the after."

I fell to my knees. My head spun. I felt sick. I wanted to vomit. But there was nothing in my stomach. There was only air.

"Let me go," I whispered.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Back. To the start. Before I did it. Before I broke it."

"There is no before. There is only now. And now is this. This pain. This loss. This end."

I looked at the stone. It was still there. It was cracked. It was broken. It was useless.

"I hate you," I said.

"I know," the man said. "Hate me. It is easier than forgiving me. It is easier than forgiving yourself."

I stood up. I was shaking. My whole body was shaking. I looked at the horizon. There was a light. It was faint. It was yellow. It was the sun. It was rising.

It was beautiful. And it was terrible.

"I am tired," I said.

"I know. Rest."

"I cannot rest. I have to walk. I have to keep walking. If I stop, I will break again."

"You will not break. You are already broken. You are the shards. You are the pieces. You are the atlas of your own ruin."

I started to walk. I walked away from the man. I walked away from the stone. I walked into the field. The grass was high. It was cold. It was wet.

I walked for a long time. I do not know how long. Time does not work here. I walked until my legs were numb. I walked until my breath was shallow.

I heard a sound. It was a laugh. It was my laugh. It was coming from behind me.

I turned. The man was gone. There was only the grass. There was only the sky.

I looked down. I saw my hand. I was holding the stone. I did not know when I picked it up. I held it tight. My fingers were bleeding. The blood was red. It was bright.

I crushed the stone.

It shattered.

It turned to dust.

It fell through my fingers.

It hit the ground.

It was gone.

I stood there. I was empty. I was light. I was nothing.

I looked at the sky. The sun was higher. It was warm. It touched my face. It felt like a hand. It felt like forgiveness.

I closed my eyes.

I did not open them.

I let the light take me.

I let the pain go.

I let the wall fall.

I was the rubble.

I was the silence.

I was the end.

And it was enough.

It was enough.

It was enough.