The jar is empty. You know it is empty. The glass is thin. The rim is chipped. You hold it in your left hand. Your right hand is shaking. The shaking is small. It is a tremor. It is a lie. You are not afraid. You are not tired. You are just thirsty.

The shop is quiet. The dust motes dance in the light. They are gold. They are slow. They are alive. You watch them. You watch the jar. The jar is clear. It is pale. It is nothing. It is everything.

Margaret stands behind the counter. She does not look at you. She looks at the floor. She counts the coins. She is a good woman. She is a kind woman. She is a stranger. You do not know her name. You do not know her face. You only know the sound of her breathing. It is shallow. It is fast. It is afraid.

You speak. Your voice is low. It is rough. It is dry.

"I need more."

She does not answer. She keeps counting. The coins click. The click is loud. It is sharp. It cuts the air. It cuts you.

"I said I need more," you say.

"I have none," she says.

Her voice is flat. It is cold. It is ice.

"That is not true."

You step forward. The floorboards creak. The creak is old. The creak is deep. It is a warning. You do not care. You step again. The creak is louder. It is angry.

"You have some," you say. "I saw you buy it. I saw the truck. I saw the crates. They were full. They were heavy. They were yours."

She stops counting. She looks up. Her eyes are wet. Her eyes are dark. They are deep. They are wells. You look into them. You see nothing. You see yourself. You see the hunger. You see the fear. You see the end.

"I did not buy it," she says.

"You did."

"I did not."

You laugh. The laugh is small. The laugh is dry. It is a crack in the stone.

"Everyone buys it," you say. "Everyone wants it. It is the life. It is the breath. It is the blood. Without it, we are dust. We are nothing. We are gone."

Margaret stands up. She is tall. She is thin. She is strong. She is not afraid. She is not tired. She is just angry.

"You are not the only one," she says. "There are others. There are many. They are here. They are waiting. They are hungry. They are thirsty. They are like you."

"Let them wait," you say. "Let them die. It is my share. It is my right. It is my life."

"Your life?" she asks. "Is that what you call it? Is that what you have? Is that all you are?"

You do not answer. You look at the jar. The jar is empty. The jar is clean. The jar is white. The white is bright. The white is blind. You look at her. She looks at you. The air is still. The air is heavy. The air is thick. It is hard to breathe. It is hard to speak. It is hard to move.

You reach for the jar. She stops you. Her hand is on your arm. Her hand is cold. Her hand is firm. Her hand is real.

"Stay back," she says.

"I am not going anywhere," you say. "I am staying. I am here. I am home. I am yours."

She pulls her hand away. She backs up. She is afraid. You see it. You feel it. It is good. It is sweet. It is yours.

You take the jar. You hold it tight. You hold it to your chest. It is cool. It is smooth. It is hard. It is alive. You close your eyes. You breathe. You breathe deep. You breathe in. You breathe out. You breathe in. You breathe out.

The shop is quiet. The dust motes dance. They are gold. They are slow. They are alive.

You open your eyes. Margaret is gone. The door is open. The wind is in. The wind is cold. The wind is wet. It smells of rain. It smells of earth. It smells of life. It smells of death.

You walk to the door. You step out. The street is gray. The sky is gray. The world is gray. The world is quiet. The world is still. The world is waiting.

You walk. You walk fast. You walk hard. You walk away. You walk toward the house. The house is old. The house is big. The house is dark. The house is full. The house is yours.

You enter. You lock the door. The lock is heavy. The lock is old. The lock is strong. The lock is safe. You sit down. You put the jar on the table. You look at it. You touch it. You rub it. You feel the glass. You feel the chip. You feel the rim. You feel the edge.

You are alone. You are safe. You are home.

But you are not.

You remember the taste. The taste is gone. The taste is memory. The memory is sharp. The memory is bright. The memory is real. You remember the first sip. You remember the shock. You remember the fire. You remember the cold. You remember the peace. You remember the joy. You remember the love.

The love is yours. The love is hers. The love is ours. The love is gone.

You pick up the jar. You lift it. You tip it. Nothing comes out. Nothing falls. Nothing flows. There is nothing. There is only air. There is only dust. There is only time.

You put the jar down. You sit back. You close your eyes. You think of her. You think of the way she looked at you. You think of the way she spoke. You think of the way she moved. You think of the way she breathed. You think of the way she lived.

You did not know her. You did not know her name. You did not know her face. You did not know her heart. You did not know her soul. You did not know her pain. You did not know her fear. You did not know her hope. You did not know her dream.

You only knew the need. You only knew the want. You only knew the hunger. You only knew the thirst.

You are the hunger. You are the thirst. You are the need. You are the want.

You are the jar.

The door opens. The door creaks. The creak is loud. The creak is sharp. The creak is angry. You do not move. You do not look. You do not breathe. You are still. You are stone. You are wood. You are dust.

Footsteps. The steps are heavy. The steps are slow. The steps are close. The steps are here.

A voice. The voice is low. The voice is rough. The voice is dry.

"It is done," the voice says.

You know the voice. You know the sound. You know the tone. You know the meaning. You know the lie.

You open your eyes. You look at the door. The door is open. The light is in. The light is bright. The light is white. The light is blind.

A man stands there. He is tall. He is thin. He is strong. He is not afraid. He is not tired. He is just happy. He is just free.

He smiles. The smile is wide. The smile is white. The smile is sharp. The smile is real.

"Thank you," he says.

You do not answer. You do not speak. You do not move. You do not breathe. You are still. You are stone. You are wood. You are dust.

He steps in. He walks to the table. He looks at the jar. He looks at you. He looks at the jar again. He picks it up. He holds it. He shakes it. There is nothing. There is only air. There is only dust. There is only time.

He puts the jar down. He looks at you. He smiles again. The smile is wide. The smile is white. The smile is sharp. The smile is real.

"You have nothing," he says. "You have no share. You have no right. You have no life. You have no breath. You have no blood. You have no heart. You have no soul. You have no name. You have no face. You have no self. You have no me. You have no we. You have no they. You have no it. You have no is. You have no was. You have no will. You have no can. You have no may. You have no must. You have no should. You have no could. You have no would. You have no dare. You have no need. You have no want. You have no love. You have no hate. You have no joy. You have no pain. You have no hope. You have no fear. You have no dream. You have no wish. You have no prayer. You have no song. You have no story. You have no tale. You have no pale tale. You have no tale at all."

He turns away. He walks out. The door closes. The lock clicks. The lock is heavy. The lock is old. The lock is strong. The lock is safe.

You are alone. You are safe. You are home.

You look at the jar. The jar is empty. The jar is clean. The jar is white. The white is bright. The white is blind. You look at your hands. Your hands are shaking. The shaking is small. The shaking is a tremor. The shaking is a lie. You are not afraid. You are not tired. You are just thirsty.

You are not thirsty.

You are not hungry.

You are not alone.

You are not safe.

You are not home.

You are the jar.

You are the glass.

You are the chip.

You are the rim.

You are the edge.

You are the break.

You are the fall.

You are the dust.

You are the nothing.

You are the everything.

You are the pale tale.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the silence.

You are the sound.

You are the breath.

You are the life.

You are the death.

You are the love.

You are the hate.

You are the joy.

You are the pain.

You are the hope.

You are the fear.

You are the dream.

You are the wish.

You are the prayer.

You are the song.

You are the story.

You are the tale.

You are the pale tale.

You are the truth.

You are the lie.

You are the reality.

You are the illusion.

You are the light.

You are the dark.

You are the shadow.

You are the form.

You are the void.

You are the full.

You are the empty.

You are the full of nothing.

You are the empty of everything.

You are the jar.

You are the hand.

You are the mouth.

You are the throat.

You are the chest.

You are the heart.

You are the soul.

You are the self.

You are the other.

You are the world.

You are the universe.

You are the all.

You are the none.

You are the one.

You are the many.

You are the single.

You are the plural.

You are the singular.

You are the collective.

You are the individual.

You are the social.

You are the private.

You are the public.

You are the secret.

You are the open.

You are the closed.

You are the locked.

You are the unlocked.

You are the safe.

You are the dangerous.

You are the protected.

You are the exposed.

You are the hidden.

You are the revealed.

You are the known.

You are the unknown.

You are the understood.

You are the misunderstood.

You are the accepted.

You are the rejected.

You are the loved.

You are the hated.

You are the cherished.

You are the discarded.

You are the kept.

You are the lost.

You are the found.

You are the missed.

You are the caught.

You are the released.

You are the held.

You are the dropped.

You are the picked up.

You are the set down.

You are the lifted.

You are the lowered.

You are the raised.

You are the sunk.

You are the risen.

You are the fallen.

You are the standing.

You are the sitting.

You are the lying.

You are the sleeping.

You are the waking.

You are the dreaming.

You are the thinking.

You are the feeling.

You are the sensing.

You are the perceiving.

You are the imagining.

You are the creating.

You are the destroying.

You are the building.

You are the breaking.

You are the making.

You are the unmaking.

You are the being.

You are the becoming.

You are the having been.

You are the will be.

You are the is.

You are the was.

You are the will.

You are the can.

You are the may.

You are the must.

You are the should.

You are the could.

You are the would.

You are the dare.

You are the need.

You are the want.

You are the love.

You are the hate.

You are the joy.

You are the pain.

You are the hope.

You are the fear.

You are the dream.

You are the wish.

You are the prayer.

You are the song.

You are the story.

You are the tale.

You are the pale tale.

You are the end.