The wall breathed.

It was a slow, wet exhalation. Dust motes danced in the shaft of grey light. I held the key. It was cold. Iron. Heavy.

My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear.

I stood before the door. It was oak. Blackened by time. The wood grain looked like veins. Like dried blood. I had been here for days. Or weeks. Time was a loop here. A tight, silver wire.

The corridor stretched out. Infinite. It curved. It did not end. It went down. Then up. It twisted around itself. A labyrinth of stone. And silence.

I was a guard. That was my job. To watch. To wait. To keep the lines drawn in the sand. I had done it well. I had kept the peace. I kept the order. I believed in the law. The law was the spine of the world. Without it, we were beasts.

But the law had changed. Or I had changed. I could not tell which.

The key turned. A click. A snap.

The door opened.

Inside was a room. Small. Square. A single window. High up. Letting in that same grey light. In the center of the room was a chair.

I walked in. My boots clacked. The sound was loud. Too loud. It echoed. It bounced off the walls.

I sat down.

The chair was hard. Wood. It fit me perfectly. It had been waiting for me. It had my shape in it. The indentations in the seat. The worn arms. It was my chair.

I looked around. The walls were bare. Except for the mirror.

The mirror was large. It took up the whole wall opposite the door. It was old. The glass was slightly warped. A ripple in the surface.

I looked into it.

I saw myself.

But it was not me.

Not exactly.

I was older. My hair was white. My eyes were deep. Set in shadows. My face was carved by wind and grief. I wore a uniform. But the uniform was different. The colors were faded. The insignia was gone.

I raised my hand.

The figure in the mirror raised its hand.

I lowered it.

It lowered it.

I leaned forward.

It leaned forward.

We were close. Inches apart. The glass between us was cold. I could feel the chill of it on my forehead.

I tried to speak.

My mouth moved. No sound came out.

The figure in the mirror spoke.

Its lips moved. I heard nothing. But I understood.

I knew what it said.

It said: You are the enemy.

I frowned. I touched my face. The skin was real. The bone was solid. I was here. I was the guard. I was the law.

I looked at the key in my hand.

It was the key to this room. I had brought it with me. I had found it in my pocket. I did not remember picking it up.

I looked at the mirror again.

The figure was smiling.

It was a sad smile. A weary smile. The smile of a man who has done everything he can and found it all for nothing.

I felt a pang. A sharp, hot stab in my chest.

I knew this face. I had seen it before. In the reports. In the files.

The man in the cell.

The one I had arrested.

The one I had beaten.

I remembered the fight. The struggle. The blood on the floor. The sound of the bone breaking. The cry. The silence that followed.

I had won. I had upheld the law. I had kept the order.

But the order was a lie.

The law was a mask.

I looked at the mirror.

The figure was still smiling.

I began to weep.

The tears fell. Hot. Salty. They ran down my cheeks. They dripped onto my shirt.

I did not wipe them away.

I sat in the chair. I held the key. I looked at my reflection.

We were the same.

We were always the same.

The guard and the prisoner. The judge and the accused. The hammer and the nail.

I had been fighting myself.

For years. For decades.

I had been trying to conquer a ghost.

I tried to stand up.

My legs did not move.

I tried to push the chair away.

It did not budge.

It was anchored. It was part of the floor. Part of the room. Part of the world.

I was stuck.

I was trapped.

I looked at the door.

It was closed.

I looked at the key.

It was useless.

It could not open the door from the inside.

Or perhaps the door had no lock.

Perhaps the door was just a wall.

I looked back at the mirror.

The figure was still there.

It was watching me.

It was waiting for me to give up.

I closed my eyes.

I breathed in.

I breathed out.

The air was stale. It tasted of dust and decay.

I opened my eyes.

The figure was gone.

The mirror was empty.

It was just glass.

It was just a reflection of the empty room.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

The blood was gone.

The dirt was gone.

I was clean.

I stood up.

The chair remained.

It was empty.

I walked to the door.

I pushed it.

It opened.

The corridor was there.

It was the same as before.

Grey. Infinite. Silent.

I walked out.

I walked down the corridor.

I walked and walked.

The walls blurred.

The light changed.

It became brighter.

Warmer.

I saw a shape.

A door.

A real door.

Wood. Metal.

I walked to it.

I put my hand on the handle.

I turned it.

It was cold.

I pushed the door open.

I stepped out.

I was in a field.

Grass. Green. Wet.

The sky was blue.

The sun was shining.

I was standing in the middle of a meadow.

There were no walls.

There was no corridor.

There was no mirror.

There was only the grass.

And the sky.

And me.

I looked down at my hands.

They were empty.

The key was gone.

I was free.

I was alone.

I was a man.

Not a guard.

Not a prisoner.

Just a man.

I looked around.

There was no one else.

No officers.

No prisoners.

No law.

Just the wind.

And the grass.

I felt a sadness.

A deep, heavy sadness.

It was the sadness of a man who has lost his purpose.

I had no purpose.

The law was gone.

The enemy was gone.

I was just a man in a field.

I sat down.

The grass was soft.

It smelled of rain.

I closed my eyes.

I listened.

I heard the wind.

I heard the birds.

I heard my own heart.

It was beating.

Strong.

Steady.

Alive.

I had survived.

I had lived.

It was not a victory.

It was not a defeat.

It was just life.

I opened my eyes.

The sun was setting.

The sky was orange.

Red.

Purple.

Beautiful.

I thought of the room.

The chair.

The mirror.

I thought of the figure.

I thought of the key.

I did not regret it.

I did not hate it.

I understood it.

We are all trapped.

We are all our own prisons.

We are all our own guards.

We are all our own prisoners.

And we must let go.

We must let go of the key.

We must let go of the law.

We must let go of the fight.

I stood up.

I looked at the horizon.

It was dark.

Night was coming.

I had to go.

I had to find my way.

I began to walk.

I walked into the dark.

I walked into the night.

I walked into the unknown.

I was not afraid.

I was ready.

I was free.

I was alone.

I was home.