You are alone in the van. The engine ticks as it cools. It is a cold sound. Like a bone cracking. You sit in the driver’s seat. The heater is off. You need the heat. You do not turn it on. You are tired. Your back aches. The pain is old. It lives in the spine. It has lived there for years. You know it well. It is your companion.

The road stretches out. It is gray. The sky is gray. The trees are bare. They look like dead hands. You reach for your phone. The screen is dark. You do not unlock it. You do not need to. You know who is calling. You know what they want. They want you to stop. They want you to come back. They want you to be small again.

You remember Margaret. She stood in the kitchen. The light was bad. It was always bad in that kitchen. The walls were yellow. The floor was cold. She held a letter in her hand. It was thick. It was white. It looked like a cloud.

"Did you read it?" she asked. Her voice was thin. It was a wire. It could snap.

"You know I did," you said. You did not look at her. You looked at the counter. There was a chip in the laminate. You had chipped it yourself. Years ago. You were angry. You were young. You are not young now.

"You have to send it back," she said. "To them. The foundation. The board. It is not yours. It is the work. It is the cause."

"The cause is dying," you said. "It has been dying for a long time. I can see it. The files are empty. The meetings are long. The words are hollow. We are just talking. We are not doing. We are just talking."

Margaret put the letter on the counter. She pushed it toward you. "It is not about the work. It is about the image. They see us. They see what we are. They see the mistake."

"What mistake?"

"The one we made. The one we cannot unmake. We chose them. We chose the wrong people. We chose the loud ones. The angry ones. Now they are angry at us. They say we are weak. They say we are soft. They say we do not care."

You looked at the letter. It was a resignation. It was your resignation. You had written it. You had not sent it. You kept it. It was a trap. You knew it was a trap. You stayed because of the work. You stayed because you loved the work. It was a bad love. It ate you. It ate your time. It ate your health. It ate your mind.

"I will send it," you said. "I will send it today."

"No," she said. "No. You will not. You will go on. You will drive. You will keep driving. You will not stop. You will not rest. You will not give up. That is what they expect. That is what the cause expects. It expects you to bleed. It expects you to break. And when you break, they will step over you. They will not stop. They will not look back. They will just go. They will just go on."

You left the house. You did not say goodbye. You could not. Your throat was tight. Your eyes were dry. You had no tears. Tears were a luxury. You did not have time for luxury. You had a job. You had a duty. You had a mission.

The mission was a lie. You knew it was a lie. But you told it anyway. You told it to Margaret. You told it to the board. You told it to yourself. You told it to the wind. You told it to the road.

Now you are in the van. The van is old. It smells of diesel and dust. The seats are worn. The leather is cracked. It looks like old skin. You touch the steering wheel. It is cold. It is hard. It does not care about you. It does not care about Margaret. It does not care about the cause. It only cares about moving. It only cares about going forward.

You start the engine. It coughs. It sputters. Then it runs. It runs rough. It vibrates. The vibration goes into your bones. It mixes with the pain in your back. It is a bad rhythm. It is a bad song. You drive. You do not look in the rearview mirror. You do not need to. You know what is behind you. You know what is waiting. You know what is lost.

The road curves. The trees pass by. They are fast. They are blurry. They are ghosts. You think of the letter. You think of Margaret. You think of the kitchen. You think of the yellow walls. You think of the cold floor. You think of the chip in the counter. You think of the years. The years are heavy. They sit on your chest. They press down. They do not let you breathe.

You pull over. The shoulder is gravel. The gravel is loose. You step out. The air is cold. It bites. It stings. You need it. You need the sting. You need the pain. It reminds you you are alive. It reminds you you are here. You are not there. You are not in the kitchen. You are not in the office. You are here. You are on the road. You are in the wilderness.

You take a photo. You take a photo of the trees. The trees are bare. The branches are dark. They look like veins. They look like roots. They look like the hand of God. Or maybe the hand of the devil. It is hard to tell. It is hard to see. The light is fading. The dark is coming. The dark is always coming.

You look at the photo. It is wrong. The angle is wrong. The focus is wrong. It is not what you wanted. It is not what you saw. It is just a picture. It is just a file. It is just data. It is not the truth. The truth is in the air. The truth is in the cold. The truth is in the pain. You cannot hold the truth. You cannot keep the truth. You can only carry it. You can only suffer it.

You get back in the van. You close the door. The latch clicks. It is a final sound. It is a hard sound. You drive. You do not stop. You do not rest. You do not give up. You are the machine. You are the distant machine. You run on fuel. You run on blood. You run on love. The love is bad. The love is destructive. It burns. It consumes. It leaves ash.

You think of the board. They are in the city. They are in the glass towers. They are safe. They are warm. They are dry. They talk about strategy. They talk about metrics. They talk about growth. They do not know the road. They do not know the cold. They do not know the pain. They do not know the truth. They only know the image. They only know the story. And the story is changing. The story is ending.

You are the end of the story. You are the period at the end of the sentence. You are the silence after the shout. You are the stop. You are the break. You are the sacrifice. You give yourself up. You give your time. You give your health. You give your mind. You give your soul. You give it all. You give it to the cause. And the cause does not care. The cause does not take it. The cause does not hold it. The cause just lets it fall. The cause just lets it rot.

The sun goes down. The sky turns purple. Then it turns black. The stars come out. They are small. They are far. They do not shine for you. They do not care about you. They are cold. They are distant. They are indifferent. You are indifferent too. You are cold. You are distant. You are a machine. You are a distant machine.

You drive into the night. The headlights cut through the dark. They make a cone of light. Inside the cone, the road is visible. Outside the cone, the world is gone. You only see the next ten feet. You only see the next ten feet. You do not see the future. You do not see the past. You only see the now. The now is enough. The now is all you have. The now is all you need.

You think of Margaret one last time. You think of her face. You think of her eyes. They were tired. They were sad. They were full of warning. You did not listen. You did not want to listen. You wanted to be strong. You wanted to be right. You wanted to be the hero. You wanted to save the cause. You wanted to save the world. But the world does not need saving. The world does not need you. The world does not care.

You are alone. You are really alone. The van is empty. The road is empty. The sky is empty. Your heart is empty. You have given it all. You have given everything. You have given the last drop. You have given the last breath. You have given the last thought. There is nothing left. There is no more you. There is only the drive. There is only the motion. There is only the machine.

The machine runs. The machine does not stop. The machine does not feel. The machine does not hope. The machine does not fear. The machine just goes. It goes on. It goes forward. It goes into the dark. It goes into the nothing. It goes until it breaks. It goes until it is dust. It goes until it is gone.

You are gone. You are here. You are nowhere. You are everywhere. You are the road. You are the cold. You are the night. You are the distant machine. You are the end. You are the beginning. You are the silence. You are the truth. You are the sacrifice. You are the cause. You are the love. You are the loss.

The engine ticks. The van cools. The night is deep. The stars are bright. You are still. You are still. You are still.