The wine is red. It stains the crystal. You watch it spread. It looks like blood. Or maybe rust. It does not matter. The room is warm. The air is thick. You are standing in the corner. You are a soldier. You are a guard. You are watching the hands of the men. They are rich. They are powerful. They are drinking. They are laughing.

You know what they are doing. You have seen the files. You read them in the dark. You read them in the cold. You read them until your eyes bled. You know the truth. The truth is a stone in your mouth. You cannot swallow it. You cannot spit it out. It sits there. Hard. Cold.

The man at the head of the table turns. He is tall. He is pale. He has eyes like ice. He sees you. He smiles. The smile is small. It does not reach his eyes. He raises his glass. He looks at you. He looks at the stain on the table.

"Enjoying the view, Sergeant?" he asks. His voice is soft. It is smooth. It is like oil.

You do not answer. You look at your hands. They are still. They are steady. You have trained for this. You have trained for the moment. You have trained for the pain. But you are not ready. You are never ready.

The party continues. The music plays. It is old music. It is sad music. The men talk. They talk about land. They talk about debt. They talk about silence. They do not talk about the dead. They do not talk about the water. They do not talk about the soil. They talk about numbers. Numbers are safe. Numbers are clean.

You think of your brother. He is gone. He is in the ground. He was a farmer. He loved the land. He loved the rain. He loved the dirt. Now the dirt is dead. Now the rain is poison. And the men in this room are smiling. They are drinking the poison. They are selling the poison.

You look at the man again. He is looking at you. He is waiting. He knows. He always knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you are a trap. He knows that you are a bomb. But he is not afraid. He is bored. He is waiting for the next course.

The second waiter comes. He is young. He is nervous. He drops a tray. The glass shatters. The sound is sharp. It cuts the air. The music stops. The talking stops. Everyone looks at the floor. The pieces of glass are scattered. Like teeth. Like bones.

You look at the man. He does not flinch. He picks up a piece of glass. He holds it up. He looks at the light. He turns it over. He is examining it. He is not looking at you. He is looking at the glass.

"You are careless," he says. "Carelessness is a sin. It is a disease."

He puts the glass down. He wipes his hand on his napkin. He looks at you again. "And you are not careful, are you, Sergeant?"

You nod. You do not speak. Words are useless. Words are weak. You are a weapon. Weapons do not speak. Weapons act.

The man stands up. He walks toward you. He moves slowly. He moves like water. He stops in front of you. He is close. You can smell him. He smells of tobacco. He smells of fear. No. He smells of power.

"You have read the files," he says. It is not a question. "You know what we do. You know what we take. You know what we leave."

You look at his face. You look for the fear. You do not see it. You see only calm. You see only indifference.

"Why do you stay?" he asks. "Why do you watch? Why do you not leave?"

"I am a soldier," you say. Your voice is low. It is rough. "I follow orders."

The man laughs. It is a dry laugh. It is like leaves in the wind. "Orders. Yes. Orders are important. But orders are also dangerous. Orders can kill you. Orders can break you."

He steps closer. He touches your shoulder. His hand is cold. It is heavy. "You are broken, Sergeant. You have been broken for a long time. You just do not know it yet."

You push him away. The movement is fast. It is sudden. The room gasps. The man stumbles. He falls to the floor. The wine spills. The red stain spreads. It covers the glass. It covers the floor. It covers everything.

Silence.

Total silence.

The man looks up. He is not angry. He is surprised. He looks at you. He looks at his hand. He looks at the stain. He smiles again. The smile is wider now. It is real.

"Good," he says. "Good. Finally. Something real."

He stands up. He brushes off his suit. He does not look at you. He looks at the others. The men are frozen. They are afraid. They are watching. They are waiting.

"Go," he says to you. "Go home. Rest. Forget."

You do not move. You look at him. You look at his face. You see the truth now. You see the lie. He does not want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He wants you to watch. He wants you to remember.

He is the trap. You are the bait.

You turn around. You walk out of the room. The doors close behind you. The music starts again. The laughter starts again. You are outside. The air is cold. It is sharp. It cuts your skin.

You walk to the car. You get in. You sit in the dark. You look at your hands. They are shaking. You try to stop them. You cannot.

You think of your brother. You think of the land. You think of the water. You think of the men in the room. You think of the glass. You think of the wine.

You know the truth. The truth is that you cannot stop them. The truth is that they are bigger than you. The truth is that they are stronger. The truth is that you are alone.

You start the car. The engine roars. It is loud. It is violent. You drive. You drive fast. The road is dark. The lights are blurring. You are moving. You are leaving.

But you are not free. You are never free. You are a mirror. You reflect their evil. You reflect their power. You are part of the machine. You are the gear. You are the spring.

You drive to your house. The house is quiet. The windows are dark. You go inside. You go to the room. You sit on the bed. You take out your phone. You look at the screen. It is blank.

You pick up a pen. You pick up a piece of paper. You write. You write your name. You write the date. You write the time.

You write the truth.

You write it down. You write it for no one. You write it for yourself. You write it for the dead.

The words are small. They are black. They are sharp. They cut the paper. They cut the air. They cut your soul.

You are a soldier. You are a guard. You are a witness.

You are a traitor.

You look at the paper. You look at the words. You see your brother. You see the land. You see the water.

You see the glass.

You see the wine.

You see yourself.

You are broken. You are shattered. You are pieces.

You fold the paper. You put it in your pocket. You stand up. You go to the window. You look outside. The moon is full. It is bright. It is cold.

You are alone.

You are safe.

You are doomed.

You close the curtains. You lie down. You close your eyes. You do not sleep. You watch the dark. You wait for the morning. You wait for the end.

The end is coming. It is always coming. It is in the air. It is in the blood. It is in the soil.

You are the pale protocol. You are the code. You are the key.

You are the lock.

You are the door.

You are the wall.

You are the stone.

You are the silence.

You are the scream.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are nothing.

You are everything.

You are here.

You are gone.

You are the stain.

You are the glass.

You are the wine.

You are the blood.

You are the truth.

And the truth is a lie.

And the lie is a truth.

And you are in between.

You are in the gap.

You are in the space.

You are in the void.

You are in the dark.

You are in the light.

You are in the fire.

You are in the ice.

You are in the air.

You are in the earth.

You are in the sky.

You are in the sea.

You are in the heart.

You are in the mind.

You are in the soul.

You are in the bone.

You are in the flesh.

You are in the blood.

You are in the spirit.

You are in the ghost.

You are in the shadow.

You are in the light.

You are in the dark.

You are in the end.

You are in the beginning.

You are in the now.

You are in the then.

You are in the always.

You are in the never.

You are in the forever.

You are in the moment.

You are in the breath.

You are in the silence.

You are in the sound.

You are in the voice.

You are in the word.

You are in the sentence.

You are in the story.

You are in the book.

You are in the page.

You are in the line.

You are in the word.

You are in the letter.

You are in the ink.

You are in the paper.

You are in the pen.

You are in the hand.

You are in the arm.

You are in the body.

You are in the mind.

You are in the soul.

You are in the ghost.

You are in the shadow.

You are in the light.

You are in the dark.

You are in the end.