The mud is thick. It sucks at your boots. You are bleeding. The blood is red. The mud is brown. They mix. You do not care.

The rain falls. It is cold. It soaks your tunic. It soaks your skin. It soaks your bones. You are a soldier. You are a tool. The tool is broken. You are a man. The man is dying.

You press your back against the wall. The wall is brick. It is wet. It is cold. It is hard. You are soft. You are weak. The door is closed. The lock is heavy. The key is in your pocket. You have the key. You are trapped.

You remember the house. The house is far away. The house is warm. The house is dry. There is a window. The window looks out on a garden. In the garden, there is a tree. The tree is an oak. The oak is old. The oak is strong. The oak is white. The white bark peels. It flakes. It falls. It wears away. The tree is dying. You know this. You have always known this.

Your name is Thomas. Thomas Whitmore. You are young. You are tired. You are hungry. Hunger is a dog. It bites you. It will not let go. You are poor. Poverty is a shadow. It follows you. It sits on your chest. It makes it hard to breathe. You breathe. You breathe in. You breathe out. The air is thin. The air tastes of iron.

You are in a cellar. The cellar is small. The cellar is dark. There is a single lamp. The lamp flickers. The light is yellow. The light is weak. It casts long shadows. The shadows dance. The shadows are you. You are many. You are one. You are alone.

The door bangs. It bangs hard. It bangs soft. It bangs again. You wait. You do not move. Your body is a stone. Your mind is a river. The river flows. The river carries you. You drift. You drift back to the garden.

Your mother is there. Her name is Eleanor. Eleanor Fairchild. She is old. Her hair is white. Her hands are rough. Her hands are like the bark of the oak. She stands under the tree. She looks at the falling flakes. She does not cry. She does not speak. She just watches. The flakes fall. The tree loses itself. Piece by piece. Year by year. She is the tree. You are the wind. You blow. You strip. You take.

Why do you take? You do not know. You are a soldier. Soldiers take. Soldiers kill. Soldiers survive. Survival is the only law. You are poor. You need to eat. You need to live. The world is cruel. The world is cold. You are cold. You are cruel.

The door bangs again. A voice. A man’s voice. It is loud. It is angry. It is authoritative. It is the Captain. Captain Ashworth. He is your superior. He is your judge. He is your god. He decides your fate. You do not argue. You do not speak. You are a soldier. Soldiers obey.

You open the door. You have the key. You use it. The lock clicks. The door swings. The light from the corridor floods in. It is bright. It is blinding. You squint. You see Captain Ashworth. He is tall. He is thin. His eyes are dark. His face is pale. He looks at you. He looks at your blood. He looks at your hands.

He does not speak. He steps inside. He closes the door. The lock clicks. The darkness returns. The lamp flickers. The shadows return. You are alone again. But you are not alone. He is here. He is a presence. He is a weight. He is the system. The system is here.

He sits on a chair. The chair creaks. He looks at you. You stand. You are on your knees. Your legs give way. You fall. You hit the floor. The floor is cold. The floor is wet. You do not feel pain. Pain is far away. Pain is in the garden. Pain is in the tree.

Captain Ashworth stands. He walks to you. His boots are clean. Your boots are muddy. He looks down. He looks at your eyes. You look up. You see your own face in his. It is distorted. It is twisted. It is a mask.

He pulls out a gun. The gun is black. The gun is cold. He points it at you. You do not flinch. You do not beg. You are empty. You are hollow. You are the white oak. You are bare.

He pulls the trigger.

The sound is loud. It is sharp. It is final. It is a bang. It is a crack. It is a break. You feel it. You feel it in your chest. It is a blow. It is a punch. It is a fist. It is meat. It is bone. It is life.

You fall back. Your head hits the wall. The wall is hard. The wall is unyielding. You stare at the ceiling. The ceiling is low. The ceiling is painted. The paint is peeling. The paint is white. The paint is like the bark.

The Captain does not shoot you again. He stands there. He watches. He waits. He sees you die. He sees you breathe. He sees you stop. He sees you become nothing.

He turns. He walks away. His boots step on the mud. His boots step on the blood. He leaves. The door opens. The door closes. The lock clicks.

You are alone.

You are not dead.

You are still breathing.

The air is thin. The air tastes of iron. The hunger is back. The dog is back. It bites you. It bites harder. It will not let go.

You try to stand. Your legs are weak. Your arms are heavy. You push against the wall. The wall pushes back. You fall. You try again. You push. You fall. You try again. You push.

You are a machine. The machine is broken. The machine tries to work. The gears grind. The gears scream. The gears stop.

You remember the tree. The tree is bare. The tree is white. The tree is dying. You are the tree. You are the wind. You are both. You are the one who blows. You are the one who falls. You cannot stop. You cannot rest. You must go on.

The cycle continues. The wheel turns. The wheel spins. The wheel grinds. It is a cycle. It is a loop. It is a circle. You are in the circle. You are in the loop. You are in the wheel.

You think of your mother. She is waiting. She is watching. She is stripping the tree. She is taking the flakes. She is taking the life. She is taking you. You are taking her. You are both taking. You are both losing. It is a trade. It is a debt. The debt is paid. The debt is unpaid. The debt is endless.

The lamp goes out. The darkness is total. The darkness is absolute. You are in the dark. You are in the black. You are in the void. You are in the nothing.

You breathe. You breathe in. You breathe out. The air is cold. The air is wet. The air is alive.

You are alive.

You are poor.

You are a soldier.

You are a man.

The door opens.

Light floods in.

It is not the Captain.

It is a boy.

The boy is small. The boy is young. The boy is dirty. The boy is hungry. The boy looks at you. The boy has your eyes. The boy has your face. The boy has your blood.

The boy speaks. He does not speak words. He speaks with his eyes. He speaks with his look. He speaks with his need. He needs you. He needs to eat. He needs to live. He needs to survive.

You look at the boy. You see the tree. You see the bark. You see the flakes. You see the falling. You see the dying.

You are the tree. The boy is the wind.

You open your arms. You embrace him. You hold him. You are strong. You are weak. You are solid. You are hollow.

You feed him. You give him your strength. You give him your life. You give him your self. You strip yourself. You peel yourself. You flake yourself. You fall.

The boy eats. The boy grows. The boy becomes strong. The boy becomes tall. The boy becomes thin. The boy becomes pale. The boy becomes a man. The boy becomes a soldier.

You fade. You fade away. You disappear. You vanish. You are gone.

But you are not gone.

You are in him.

You are in the blood.

You are in the bone.

You are in the breath.

The wheel turns.

The wheel spins.

The wheel grinds.

The boy stands up.

The boy looks at the door.

The boy picks up the gun.

The boy is ready.

The boy is the Captain.

The boy is you.

The boy is the wind.

The boy is the tree.

The boy is the mud.

The boy is the blood.

The boy is the rain.

The boy is the cold.

The boy is the hunger.

The boy is the life.

The boy is the death.

The boy is the cycle.

The boy is the loop.

The boy is the wheel.

The boy is the story.

The boy is the tale.

The pale tale.

The tale is told.

The tale is done.

The tale begins.