The bottle breaks.

It happens in the street.

You hold it.

It is full of water.

It is cold.

The glass shatters against the asphalt.

Water pools.

It spreads.

It is clear.

It is life.

It is poison.

You stand there.

You are Dr. Elias Thorne.

You are old.

Your knees ache.

The rain is cold.

A woman stands opposite.

She is wet.

Her coat is gray.

She looks at the puddle.

She looks at you.

"You did that," she says.

"I did," you say.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

She steps closer.

The puddle glimmers.

It reflects the sky.

It reflects her face.

It reflects your hands.

Your hands are trembling.

You held the bottle tight.

You wanted to save it.

You wanted to keep the water pure.

You wanted to give it to her.

But it broke.

"Why?" she asks again.

"Because I am afraid," you say.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of wasting it."

She steps over the water.

She is near you now.

Her breath fogs.

"Who is it for?" she asks.

"Everyone," you say.

"Everyone?"

"Yes."

She laughs.

It is a dry sound.

"You are a fool, Elias."

"I know."

"You are a saint."

"I am no one."

She touches your arm.

Her finger is cold.

She looks into your eyes.

"You held it too tight."

"Yes."

"And now it is gone."

"Yes."

The police car stops.

The lights flash.

Red and blue.

They wash over the street.

They wash over the puddle.

The officer steps out.

He is young.

He is angry.

He walks to you.

"Sir," he says.

"Yes," you say.

"You broke a container."

"Yes."

"Public property."

"Yes."

"Are you under arrest?"

"Yes."

The officer looks at the woman.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"I am fine."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"He broke the bottle."

"I saw."

"He is unstable."

"Perhaps."

The officer puts his hand on his belt.

He looks at you.

"Put your hands behind your back."

You do.

The cuffs are cold.

They bite into your wrists.

The woman watches.

She does not move.

She is part of the background.

She is part of the street.

The officer leads you to the car.

The rain falls.

It hits your face.

It feels like needles.

It feels like water.

You think of the bottle.

It was heavy.

It was strong.

It held the water.

It held your hope.

It held your fear.

It held your love.

Love is a heavy thing.

It breaks things.

It breaks you.

You sit in the back seat.

The seat is hard.

The car moves.

The city blurs.

You see the puddle.

It is gone.

The water is gone.

The glass is gone.

You are gone.

The car stops.

The door opens.

The officer grabs your arm.

He pulls you out.

The station is loud.

The lights are bright.

People look at you.

They whisper.

They point.

You are the old man.

You are the madman.

You are the criminal.

You are the saint.

You are the fool.

You are nothing.

They put you in a room.

It is small.

It is gray.

There is a chair.

There is a table.

There is a desk.

A man sits there.

He is the chief.

He is old.

He is tired.

He looks at you.

"Sit down," he says.

You sit.

The chair creaks.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Elias Thorne."

"I know who you are."

"You do?"

"You are the doctor."

"I was."

"Where is your practice?"

"Gone."

"Why?"

"I gave it away."

"Gave it away?"

"Yes."

"To whom?"

"To everyone."

The chief leans back.

He crosses his arms.

"You are not making sense."

"I am."

"You broke a bottle."

"Yes."

"Of water."

"Yes."

"In the street."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to share it."

"Share what?"

"The purity."

The chief looks at the door.

He looks at you.

"You are delusional."

"Maybe."

"Or you are dangerous."

"Maybe."

"Which is it?"

"I don't know."

The chief picks up a phone.

He dials a number.

"Get the psychiatrists," he says.

"Yes, sir."

"He is holding a bottle."

"A bottle?"

"A metaphorical bottle."

"I see."

He hangs up.

He looks at you.

"We will keep you here."

"For how long?"

"Until you are safe."

"I am safe."

"You are not."

He stands up.

He walks to the door.

"Someone will come for you."

"Who?"

"The state."

The state.

The word is heavy.

The word is cold.

The door opens.

Two nurses enter.

They are young.

They are kind.

They look at you.

"Dr. Thorne," one says.

"Yes."

"We need to take your blood."

"Okay."

They tie a strap to your arm.

They insert the needle.

The blood flows.

It is red.

It is dark.

It is life.

It is gone.

The bag fills.

The bag is heavy.

The bag is full.

The bag is empty.

The bag is you.

The nurse smiles.

"Thank you," she says.

"You're welcome," you say.

They remove the strap.

The wound is small.

It is red.

It is a dot.

It is a star.

It is a hole.

The nurses leave.

The door closes.

You are alone.

The room is quiet.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

You think of the water.

You think of the glass.

You think of the woman.

She was there.

She was real.

She was part of it.

She was the witness.

She saw the break.

She saw the fall.

She saw the loss.

She did not judge.

She did not save.

She just watched.

Watching is a form of love.

Watching is a form of war.

Watching is a form of death.

The door opens again.

The chief is there.

He holds a file.

He looks at you.

"We found your records."

"Yes."

"You treated the governor."

"Yes."

"You treated the mayor."

"Yes."

"You treated the judge."

"Yes."

"You are important, Elias."

"I am not."

"You are a pillar."

"I am a crack."

The chief sighs.

"You cannot stay here."

"Can I not?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you are too valuable."

"Valuable to whom?"

"To us."

"To the system."

"Yes."

The system.

The word is big.

The word is empty.

The word is full.

The system wants you.

The system needs you.

The system is hungry.

The system is sick.

The system is you.

The system is the bottle.

The system is the water.

The system is the glass.

The system is the break.

The system is the shame.

The system is the fear.

The system is the love.

The system is the hate.

The system is the truth.

The truth is hidden.

The truth is buried.

The truth is deep.

You dig for it.

You dig with your hands.

You dig with your mind.

You dig with your soul.

You find nothing.

You find only dirt.

You find only stone.

You find only pain.

The chief offers you a hand.

"Come with me," he says.

"Where?"

"Home."

"Home is gone."

"Then we will build it."

"You cannot build a home with lies."

"Can you build it with truth?"

"No."

"Then we are the same."

You look at his hand.

It is steady.

It is strong.

It is open.

It is a trap.

It is a gift.

It is a cage.

It is a key.

You take his hand.

You stand up.

Your legs are weak.

You lean on him.

He leans on you.

You are two old men.

You are two old stones.

You are two old trees.

You are two old rivers.

You are two old bottles.

You are two old souls.

You walk out.

The rain has stopped.

The air is fresh.

The air is clean.

The air is empty.

The air is full.

You walk to the car.

The car is black.

The car is shiny.

The car is fast.

The car is quiet.

The car is a box.

The car is a womb.

The car is a tomb.

You get in.

The chief gets in.

The car moves.

The city blurs.

You see the street.

You see the puddle.

It is dry.

The glass is gone.

The water is gone.

The memory is gone.

The truth is gone.

You are gone.

The car stops.

The door opens.

The air hits your face.

It is cold.

It is sharp.

It is real.

The chief opens the door.

He steps out.

He turns to you.

"Goodbye, Elias."

"Goodbye."

"Stay well."

"I will try."

He walks away.

He walks into the dark.

He walks into the night.

He walks into the future.

You stay in the car.

You stay in the past.

You stay in the present.

You stay in the moment.

The moment is small.

The moment is big.

The moment is everything.

The moment is nothing.

You look at your hands.

They are clean.

They are dry.

They are empty.

You open your mouth.

You speak.

You say nothing.

You say everything.

You say I love you.

You say I forgive you.

You say I am sorry.

You say I am here.

You say I am gone.

You say I am here.

The sound fades.

The sound disappears.

The sound dies.

The sound lives.

The sound is the water.

The sound is the glass.

The sound is the break.

The sound is the hold.

The sound is the release.

The sound is the love.

The sound is the hate.

The sound is the truth.

The sound is the lie.

The sound is the end.

The sound is the beginning.

The sound is the middle.

The sound is the silence.

The silence is loud.

The silence is soft.

The silence is hard.

The silence is kind.

The silence is cruel.

The silence is fair.

The silence is just.

The silence is true.

The silence is false.

The silence is you.

The silence is me.

The silence is us.

The silence is them.

The silence is the world.

The world is quiet.

The world is still.

The world is waiting.

The world is watching.

The world is seeing.

The world is knowing.

The world is understanding.

The world is forgiving.

The world is loving.

The world is hating.

The world is breaking.

The world is healing.

The world is living.

The world is dying.

The world is the bottle.

The bottle is the world.

The world is the water.

The water is the world.

The world is the glass.

The glass is the world.

The world is the break.

The break is the world.

The world is the hold.

The hold is the world.

The world is the release.

The release is the world.

The world is the love.

The love is the world.

The world is the hate.

The hate is the world.

The world is the truth.

The truth is the world.

The world is the lie.

The lie is the world.

The world is the end.

The end is the world.

The world is the beginning.

The beginning is the world.

The world is the middle.

The middle is the world.

The world is the silence.

The silence is the world.

The world is you.

You are the world.

The world is me.

I am the world.

The world is us.

We are the world.

The world is them.

They are the world.

The world is everything.

Everything is the world.

The world is nothing.

Nothing is the world.

The world is here.

Here is the world.

The world is now.

Now is the world.

The world is this.

This is the world.

The world is that.

That is the world.

The world is it.

It is the world.

The world is is.

Is is the world.

The world is am.

Am is the world.

The world are.

Are is the world.

The world was.

Was is the world.

The world were.

Were is the world.

The world will be.

Will be is the world.

The world shall be.

Shall be is the world.

The world can be.

Can be is the world.

The world could be.

Could be is the world.

The world may be.

May be is the world.

The world might be.

Might be is the world.

The world must be.

Must be is the world.

The world should be.

Should be is the world.

The world would be.

Would be is the world.

The world had been.

Had been is the world.

The world has been.

Has been is the world.

The world have been.

Have been is the world.

The world was being.

Was being is the world.

The world is being.

Is being is the world.

The world will be being.

Will be being is the world.

The world is.

Is is.

The world is.

Is is.

The world is.

Is is.