The ink stains your fingers before the sentence does. You write by the window. The glass is cold. The night is wet. It is a feast of shadows. You are the host. You are the guest. You are the knife.

The house is old. The walls breathe. The floorboards creak under your bare feet. You are twelve. You are small. You are watching.

Your name is Elias. You do not say it. You do not need to. The name is a weight. A stone in your pocket. You drop it. It sinks.

Across the table sits your father. He is large. He is kind. He is a lie. His face is a mask. The mask is cracking. You see the cracks. They run like rivers of light.

He speaks. His voice is soft. It is honey. It is poison.

"Elias," he says. "Look at me."

You look. You must look. The protocol demands it. The pale protocol. The rule of the house. You must see. You must know. You must betray yourself to be seen.

He holds a card. It is white. It is blank. It is full.

"Write your name," he says.

You do not write. You freeze. The pen hovers. The ink drips. A black tear falls on the white wood. It spreads. It blooms.

Your mother is in the hall. You hear her breathing. It is shallow. It is fast. She is afraid. You are afraid. The fear is a bird in your chest. It flaps its wings. It breaks your ribs.

You write the name.

The letters are ugly. They are jagged. They are alive.

Your father smiles. The smile is a wound.

"Good," he says.

He takes the card. He turns it over. There is nothing on the back. There is nothing at all.

He puts the card in his pocket. He leaves the room. The door closes. The latch clicks. The sound is a gunshot.

You are alone.

You stare at the stain. The ink is dry. The stain is permanent. You look in the mirror on the wall. Your face is there. It is not your face. It is a stranger’s face. It is your father’s face. The eyes are too wide. The mouth is too thin.

You are the mirror. The mirror is you.

You touch the glass. The glass is cold. The glass is hard. The glass is breaking.

A crack appears.

It starts at the corner. It runs to the center. It splits your eye. Your eye is gone. Your eye is a shard.

You do not scream. You cannot scream. The silence is a roar.

You walk to the door. You open it. The hall is dark. The moonlight comes through the window. The light is silver. The light is pale.

You see your mother. She is sitting on the stairs. Her head is in her hands. She is weeping. The tears are salt. The salt burns.

You do not speak. You stand in the doorway. You are a statue. You are a ghost.

She looks up. She sees you. She does not see your face. She sees the crack in the mirror behind you. She sees the betrayal.

"Go away," she whispers.

You go away.

You go to the garden. The garden is overgrown. The weeds are tall. The weeds are hungry. They eat the roses. The roses are dead.

You sit on the stone bench. The stone is cold. The cold is a friend. The cold is honest.

The night is deep. The stars are out. The stars are eyes. They are watching. They are judging.

You think of the card. The white card. The blank card. The full card.

You think of the name. The name you wrote. The name you betrayed.

You think of justice. Justice is a word. Justice is a promise. Justice is a lie.

You wait.

The sun rises. The light is gray. The light is thin. The light is pale.

Your father comes out. He is in his coat. He is ready to leave. He is going to work. He is going to the world. He is going to be good.

He sees you. He stops. He looks at you. He looks at the mirror in the hall. He looks at the crack.

He does not say anything. He walks past you. He walks to the car. He gets in. The engine starts. The engine is a beast. The beast roars.

The car drives away. The dust rises. The dust settles.

You are alone.

You are free.

You are not free.

The crack remains.

Days pass. The days are short. The days are long. The days are the same.

You are in school. The teacher speaks. The words are water. The water is warm. The water is indifferent.

You look at the other children. They are happy. They are blind. They do not see the cracks. They do not see the lies.

You see them. You see the lies. The lies are everywhere. In the books. In the faces. In the air.

You are different. You are broken. You are whole.

One day, a girl sits next to you. Her name is Clara. Her hair is red. Her eyes are green. She is kind. She is warm.

She looks at you. She sees the crack. She does not look away.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

You do not answer. You look at your hands. The ink is still there. The stain is on your skin. It is part of you.

"I am fine," you say.

It is a lie.

She smiles. The smile is small. The smile is true.

You feel something. It is a fire. It is a spark. It is a life.

You fall in love.

It is not a gentle thing. It is a storm. It is a flood. It is a hunger. It is a primal need. It is the need to be seen. The need to be known. The need to be saved.

You hold her hand. Her hand is warm. Her hand is soft. Her hand is real.

You look at her. You see the world. You see the light. You see the truth.

The truth is that you are not your father. The truth is that you are not the mirror. The truth is that you are Elias.

But the truth is not enough.

The protocol remains. The pale protocol. The rule of the house.

One night, you go to the garden. The moon is full. The moon is bright. The moon is a mirror.

You see your father. He is standing by the tree. He is holding a knife. The knife is silver. The knife is sharp.

He sees you. He smiles. The smile is a wound.

"Come here," he says.

You go. You must go. The protocol demands it.

He puts the knife in your hand. The knife is heavy. The knife is cold. The knife is alive.

"Cut," he says.

You cut.

You cut the air. You cut the dark. You cut the lie.

You cut your hand.

The blood is red. The blood is hot. The blood is life.

It drips on the grass. The grass drinks. The grass grows.

You look at the knife. The knife is clean. The knife is empty.

You look at your father. He is gone. He is a ghost. He is a memory.

You are alone.

You are free.

You are not free.

The blood continues to flow. The blood is a river. The river is wide. The river is deep.

You fall to your knees. The grass is wet. The grass is cold. The grass is dead.

You look at the sky. The stars are out. The stars are eyes. They are watching. They are judging.

You wait for justice.

Justice does not come.

Justice is a shadow. Justice is a whisper. Justice is a ghost.

You stand up. You walk to the house. The house is dark. The house is silent. The house is a tomb.

You enter. You go to the hall. You look in the mirror.

The crack is gone.

The glass is smooth. The glass is clear. The glass is perfect.

You see your face. Your face is whole. Your face is young. Your face is alive.

You smile. The smile is small. The smile is true.

You are Elias.

You are not your father.

You are not the mirror.

You are the light.

The light is pale. The light is soft. The light is warm.

You turn off the lamp. The dark comes. The dark is soft. The dark is kind.

You close your eyes.

You sleep.

You dream of water. The water is clear. The water is deep. The water is calm.

You dream of a card. The card is white. The card is blank. The card is full.

You dream of a name. The name is yours. The name is true. The name is free.

You wake.

The sun is rising. The light is gray. The light is thin. The light is pale.

You go to the window. You open the window. The air is cool. The air is fresh. The air is new.

You breathe. The breath is deep. The breath is long. The breath is life.

You look at the garden. The garden is overgrown. The weeds are tall. The weeds are hungry.

You look at the tree. The tree is bare. The tree is dead. The tree is reborn.

You look at the road. The road is long. The road is straight. The road is free.

You pick up your bag. The bag is heavy. The bag is full. The bag is yours.

You walk out. The door closes. The latch clicks. The sound is a gunshot.

You walk down the street. The street is empty. The street is quiet. The street is waiting.

You walk to the edge of town. The town is behind you. The town is a memory. The town is a lie.

You walk to the edge of the world. The world is ahead of you. The world is wide. The world is open.

You walk.

You do not look back.

You do not forget.

You do not forgive.

You do not need to.

You are free.

You are alone.

You are whole.

The ink is dry. The stain is permanent. The crack is gone. The mirror is broken. The glass is dust.

The dust is in the wind. The wind is in the air. The air is in the sky. The sky is in the stars. The stars are in the night. The night is in the day. The day is in the life. The life is in the love. The love is in the truth. The truth is in the light. The light is in the pale. The pale is in the protocol. The protocol is in the silence. The silence is in the peace. The peace is in the end.

The end is here.

The end is now.

The end is you.

You stop.

You stand still.

You look at the sky.

The sky is blue.

The sky is clear.

The sky is infinite.

You smile.

You walk on.

You do not stop.

You do not turn.

You do not look.

You are gone.

You are here.

You are everything.

You are nothing.

You are Elias.

The ink fades.

The page turns.

The story ends.

The silence begins.

The silence is loud.

The silence is deep.

The silence is true.

The silence is you.