The letter lies on the desk. It is damp. You have been waiting for it. You are a clerk. Your name is Thomas. You are fifty years old. Your hands shake. Not from age. From fear. The paper is thin. It looks like a leaf. A dead leaf. It has fallen from the great tree of the Ministry.

You do not open it yet. You look out the window. The sky is grey. It presses down on the city. The factories cough smoke into the air. The smoke is thick. It stains the glass. You are in the palace of power. It is not a castle. It is a block of stone. It stands on the hill. It watches the poor. It judges the poor. You are inside. You are part of it.

The letter is from the Director. His name is Ashworth. He is a god. He speaks, and the world moves. He does not speak. The world freezes. You have served him for ten years. You have written his words. You have filed his papers. You have been his shadow.

You pick up the letter. Your fingers are cold. You tear the seal. The sound is sharp. It cuts the silence. You read the first line.

We regret to inform you.

You stop. Your heart stops. You breathe. You read again.

We regret to inform you of your dismissal.

The words are plain. They are clean. They are white. They are like snow. They cover the truth. You do not understand. You have done no wrong. You have been faithful. You have been quiet. You have been invisible. Why?

You look at the clock. It ticks. The hands move. Time does not care. Time is cruel. Time is blind. You put the letter down. You pick it up. You read it again.

Effective immediately.

You are out. You are nothing. You are a ghost. You are a stain on the glass.

You stand. Your legs are weak. You sit back down. You look at the room. The desk is oak. It is dark. It is heavy. It has held your secrets. It has held your life. Now it holds your death.

You think of the rose. It is on the windowsill. It is in a pot. The pot is clay. It is red. The rose is white. It is pale. It is beautiful. It is dying. The petals are falling. One by one. They fall onto the floor. They are like tears. They are like blood.

You are the rose. You are the petal. You are falling.

You must leave. You must go. You gather your things. A pen. A book. A photo. The photo is of your wife. Her name is Eleanor. She is dead. She died last year. Her face is calm. Her eyes are closed. She looks at peace. You are not at peace.

You put the photo in your pocket. You pick up your coat. The coat is grey. It is worn. It smells of dust. It smells of fear. You put it on. It fits. It fits too well. It is your skin.

You walk to the door. The door is heavy. It is wood. It is dark. You open it. The hall is long. It is empty. The floor is marble. It is cold. It is hard. You walk. Your shoes scrape. The sound is loud. It echoes. It hurts.

You pass the guards. They stand still. They look at you. They do not see you. You are nothing. You are air. You are smoke.

You walk to the stairs. The stairs are wide. They are white. They go up. You go down. You go down. You go down.

You reach the street. The air is cold. It bites your face. It bites your neck. You breathe. The air is full of smoke. It is full of lies. It is full of death.

You walk. You do not know where. You do not care. You walk. The people walk. They are many. They are fast. They are loud. They are alive. You are not alive. You are walking. You are moving. You are a stone. You are a leaf.

You walk to the park. It is small. It is green. It is quiet. There is a bench. It is wood. It is old. You sit. You rest. You look at the sky. It is grey. It is low. It is heavy.

You think of the rose. It is still there. It is in the pot. It is on the windowsill. It is in the office. It is in the palace. It is in the power. It is in the truth.

You are the rose.

You look at your hand. Your hand is open. Your palm is flat. It is pale. It is soft. It is weak. You close your hand. You make a fist. It is small. It is weak. It is nothing.

You open your hand. You look at the letters. They are in your pocket. You touch them. They are there. They are real. They are true.

You are dismissed.

You are free.

You are lost.

You stand up. You walk. You walk to the bridge. The bridge is iron. It is black. It is strong. It spans the river. The river is dark. It is fast. It is deep. It is full of secrets. It is full of pain.

You stand on the bridge. You look down. The water is cold. The water is black. The water is hungry. It wants you. It wants your life. It wants your soul.

You look at the sun. It is hidden. It is behind the clouds. It is lost. It is gone.

You think of the rose. It is white. It is pure. It is clean. It is beautiful. It is dying.

You think of the Director. He is inside. He is safe. He is warm. He is powerful. He is a god. He is a monster.

You think of the people. They are outside. They are cold. They are hungry. They are angry. They are alive.

You are alive.

You take a step back. You turn around. You walk away.

You walk to the station. The station is big. It is loud. It is crowded. It is full of noise. It is full of life. You buy a ticket. The ticket is paper. It is small. It is thin. It is a promise. It is a lie.

You get on the train. The train is black. It is iron. It is strong. It moves. It shakes. It rattles. It sings. It roars.

You sit. You look out the window. The city passes. It is grey. It is dirty. It is sad. It is beautiful.

You look at your hand. Your hand is still. Your hand is calm. Your hand is yours.

You look at the letter. It is in your pocket. You do not take it out. You do not read it. You do not need to. You know what it says. You know what it means.

You are dismissed.

You are free.

You are lost.

The train moves. It goes fast. It goes far. It goes away.

You look at the sky. It is clear. It is blue. It is empty. It is vast. It is infinite.

You breathe. The air is fresh. The air is clean. The air is new.

You close your eyes. You sleep. You dream.

You dream of the rose. It is in a garden. The garden is green. The garden is bright. The rose is white. It is full. It is open. It is alive.

You wake up. The train stops. The door opens. You get off.

You are in a new town. It is small. It is quiet. It is poor. It is real.

You walk. You walk to the square. The square is empty. The square is cold. The square is hard.

You stand. You look up. The sky is grey. It is low. It is heavy.

You take the letter out of your pocket. You hold it. You look at it. It is damp. It is soft. It is weak.

You tear it. You tear it into pieces. The pieces fall. They are like snow. They are like dust. They are like ash.

You let them go. The wind takes them. The wind is cold. The wind is strong. The wind is free.

The pieces fly. They dance. They spin. They vanish.

You are empty.

You are full.

You are alive.

You turn. You walk. You walk into the town. You walk into the life. You walk into the dark. You walk into the light.

You are Thomas. You are a clerk. You are a man. You are free.

The rose is gone. The garden is gone. The dream is gone.

You are here.

You are now.

You are real.