The bell tolls. It is the hour of the feast.

You stand in the refectory. The air is thick. It smells of rot. It smells of honey. You are a stranger here. You are an exile. Your feet hurt. The stone is cold.

They look at you. They do not know your name. You are the new brother. You are the penitent. You kneel. The wood creaks. You wait for the food.

Father Elias approaches. He is tall. His face is pale. He is like a ghost. He is like a knife. He carries the bowl. It is black. It is heavy. It is full.

"You are hungry," he says.

His voice is low. It is soft. It cuts the air. You nod. You cannot speak. Your throat is tight. You are afraid. You are ashamed. You belong to no one. You belong to all of them.

Elias pours. The liquid is thick. It is dark. It is like oil. It is like blood. It flows into your cup. It swirls. It settles.

"Drink," he says.

You raise the cup. Your hand shakes. The rim touches your lips. It is warm. It is sweet. It is bitter. You swallow. It burns. It sores your tongue. It fills your chest. It is a drug. It is a poison. It is life.

You look at Elias. He watches you. His eyes are deep. They are dark. They are old. He sees you. He sees through you. He sees the hollow place inside.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I am no one," you whisper.

"Wrong," he says. "You are someone. You are the key. You are the lock. You are the door."

You do not understand. The words float. They are strange. They are heavy. You drink again. The cup is empty. You want more. You need more.

The other brothers watch. They are silent. They are still. They are statues. They hold their cups. They do not drink. They watch you. Their faces are masks. Their eyes are hard.

Elias smiles. It is not a kind smile. It is a sad smile. It is a cruel smile. It is a knowing smile.

"Remember," he says. "The taste. The memory. The bond. It binds you. It breaks you. It makes you us."

You feel a pull. It is in your belly. It is in your bones. It is in your mind. You are tethered. You are held. You are lost.

The light in the window shifts. The shadows lengthen. The room grows dark. The air grows cold. You feel a chill. It creeps up your spine. It settles in your brain.

Elias steps back. He places his hand on your shoulder. His hand is cold. It is heavy. It is final.

"Go," he says. "To your cell. Rest. Dream. Remember."

You stand. Your legs are weak. Your head is heavy. You walk. You stumble. You pass the brothers. They do not move. They do not breathe. They are stone. They are death.

You reach the door. You push it open. The hallway is long. It is dark. It is empty. You walk. You do not look back. You cannot. You dare not.

The cell is small. It is bare. There is a bed. There is a chair. There is a table. There is a candle. It is out. You light it. The flame flickers. It is weak. It is blue. It is dying.

You sit. You hold the cup. It is empty. But you can still taste it. The sweetness. The bitterness. The burn. It lingers. It haunts you. It is inside you. It is part of you.

You close your eyes. You wait. The darkness comes. It is thick. It is heavy. It is wet. It presses against your skin. It covers your face. It fills your ears.

You hear a sound. It is a whisper. It is a laugh. It is a sob. It is your voice. It is not your voice. It is a memory. It is a truth.

You open your eyes. The candle is gone. The room is black. You are alone. You are not alone. They are here. They are in the walls. They are in the floor. They are in the air.

You stand. You walk to the door. You knock. No one answers. You knock again. No one answers. You push. The door is locked. You are trapped. You are free. You are lost.

You think of your mother. Her face. Her hands. Her smell. She is far away. She is dead. Or she is alive. You do not know. You do not care. You are here. You are nothing. You are everything.

The door opens. It opens slowly. It creaks. It groans. It is a scream. Light spills in. It is white. It is cold. It is bright.

Elias stands there. He is tall. He is pale. He is smiling. He holds a bowl. It is black. It is heavy. It is full.

"Time for the next meal," he says.

You step back. Your heart beats. It is fast. It is loud. It is a drum. It is a hammer. It breaks the silence. It breaks the dark.

"You have changed," Elias says. "You are different. You are lighter. You are cleaner. You are ready."

"Ready for what?" you ask.

"For the end," he says. "For the beginning. For the middle. It is all the same. It is a circle. It is a knot. It is a trap."

You look at the bowl. You look at his face. You look at the light. You see your reflection. It is not yours. It is his. It is theirs. It is the shadow. It is the ghost.

You realize it. You see it. You know it. The truth is sharp. The truth is cold. The truth is clear.

You are not the prisoner. You are the guard. You are not the victim. You are the hunter. You are not the child. You are the parent. You are not the lost. You are the found.

You laugh. It is a dry laugh. It is a hard laugh. It is a broken laugh. It echoes. It bounces. It dies.

Elias blinks. He looks confused. He looks afraid. He looks small.

"What is wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," you say. "Everything. Nothing. Yes. No."

You take the bowl. You take it from his hand. He lets you. He does not fight. He does not stop you. He watches. He waits. He fears.

You pour. You pour it on the floor. It spreads. It flows. It pools. It is black. It is thick. It is alive. It moves. It crawls. It whispers.

Elias steps back. His face is white. His eyes are wide. His mouth is open. He makes a sound. It is a gasp. It is a cry. It is a prayer.

"You have broken the cycle," he says.

"I have broken the lie," you say.

You look at him. You see the fear. You see the guilt. You see the shame. You see the truth. He is not the master. He is the servant. He is not the god. He is the man. He is not the judge. He is the judged.

You drop the bowl. It shatters. It cracks. It breaks. It is gone. It is dust. It is memory. It is pain.

The floor is wet. The dark liquid spreads. It covers the stone. It covers the light. It covers the truth.

Elias falls to his knees. He weeps. He sobs. He begs. He pleads. He is a child. He is a man. He is a ghost.

"Forgive me," he says.

"I forgive you," you say. "I forgive myself. I forgive the world. I forgive the dark. I forgive the light. I forgive the hunger. I forgive the food. I forgive the poison. I forgive the cure."

You stand up. You are tall. You are strong. You are clear. You are free. You are alone. You are together. You are apart. You are one.

You walk past him. You walk to the door. You open it. The hallway is light. The sun is up. The birds are singing. The air is fresh. The air is clean. The air is new.

You step out. The world is wide. The world is old. The world is young. The world is real. The world is false. The world is true.

You do not look back. You do not need to. The past is gone. The present is now. The future is unknown. The future is free.

You walk. You walk fast. You walk hard. You walk far. You walk alone. You walk together. You walk in the dark. You walk in the light. You walk in the shadow. You walk in the sun.

You are the exile. You are the home. You are the stranger. You are the friend. You are the enemy. You are the lover. You are the mother. You are the child. You are the god. You are the man. You are the nothing. You are the everything.

The bell tolls. It is the hour of the end. It is the hour of the start. It is the hour of the now. It is the hour of the always.

You smile. It is a sad smile. It is a happy smile. It is a real smile. It is a true smile. It is a human smile. It is a divine smile.

You close your eyes. You breathe in. You breathe out. You are here. You are there. You are everywhere. You are nowhere. You are the promise. You are the break. You are the bond. You are the release.

The story ends. The story begins. The story is you. The story is me. The story is us. The story is them. The story is the dark. The story is the light. The story is the food. The story is the poison. The story is the truth.

You are free. You are bound. You are free.

The end.