The train left.

You watched it go.

The smoke was gray.

It curled into the air.

You were young.

You were small.

You stood on the platform.

The wind was cold.

It bit your nose.

You missed the train.

You missed him.

His name was Elias.

He was your friend.

He was gone now.

He went to the city.

He went to the mill.

He would be a man.

You were not a man.

You were a boy.

You were left behind.

The platform was empty.

The tracks were cold.

You felt a hollow space.

It was in your chest.

It was a hole.

It was deep.

You walked back.

You walked to the house.

The house was old.

The wood was dark.

The air smelled of dust.

And old paper.

And iron.

You lived in the shadow.

Of the great factory.

The factory was huge.

It was a monster.

It breathed fire.

It ate coal.

It made steel.

It made cages.

It made wealth.

And it made men.

The owner was Mr. Thorne.

He was a giant.

He wore black.

He wore gold.

He had no eyes.

Or so it seemed.

His eyes were dead.

Like stones.

Like coal.

He ruled the town.

He ruled the lives.

He ruled the breath.

You worked there.

You were a hand.

Just a hand.

You worked the loom.

The loom was loud.

It clattered like bones.

It clattered like teeth.

You pulled the thread.

You pulled the string.

You made the cloth.

The cloth was fine.

It was soft.

It was white.

It was for the rich.

For the ladies.

For the silk.

For the lies.

Elias was gone.

But you stayed.

Why did you stay?

You did not know.

You were afraid.

You were bound.

By fear.

And by need.

And by the weight.

Of the debt.

Your father was dead.

The debt remained.

The interest grew.

It ate your days.

It ate your nights.

It ate your soul.

Slowly.

Bit by bit.

You wanted to leave.

You wanted to run.

But you could not.

The doors were locked.

The gates were high.

The walls were thick.

You were trapped.

Like a fly.

In a jar.

You looked at the sky.

The sky was gray.

The sky was flat.

It pressed down.

It did not lift.

It did not break.

It just was.

You looked at the men.

They were silent.

They were hollow.

They moved like ghosts.

They moved like machines.

They had no names.

They had no faces.

They were just hands.

Just parts.

Of the machine.

You were one of them.

You were a part.

You were a gear.

You turned.

You turned.

You turned.

Until you stopped.

Until you broke.

Until you fell.

You fell in the hall.

The floor was hard.

The floor was cold.

You lay there.

You looked up.

You saw him.

Mr. Thorne.

He stood above you.

He looked down.

He did not speak.

He did not move.

He was a statue.

He was a shadow.

He was the end.

He held a cane.

The cane was black.

The cane was iron.

He tapped it.

On the floor.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

It was a rhythm.

It was a beat.

It was a heart.

A dead heart.

You felt the fear.

It rose in you.

It was cold.

It was sharp.

It cut your throat.

You could not breathe.

You could not move.

You were still.

He looked at you.

His eyes were black.

His eyes were deep.

You saw nothing.

You saw only dark.

Then he spoke.

His voice was low.

His voice was soft.

But it was hard.

Like stone.

Like steel.

"Get up," he said.

You did not move.

"Get up," he said.

Again.

The words were sharp.

The words were cold.

They cut the air.

They cut the silence.

You moved.

You stood up.

Your legs were weak.

Your knees were shaking.

You looked at him.

He did not blink.

He did not care.

He turned away.

He walked away.

His footsteps were quiet.

His footsteps were steady.

He disappeared.

Into the dark.

Into the mist.

You were alone.

You were small.

You were broken.

You looked at your hands.

They were red.

They were raw.

They were bleeding.

You looked at the floor.

There was a stain.

It was red.

It was dark.

It was spreading.

It was a map.

It was a mark.

It was a sign.

You touched it.

It was wet.

It was warm.

It was life.

It was yours.

You felt a surge.

It was not fear.

It was not pain.

It was something else.

It was a spark.

It was a fire.

It was a thought.

A dark thought.

A wild thought.

A dangerous thought.

You looked around.

The hall was empty.

The doors were closed.

The windows were barred.

But you saw it.

The exit.

The fire escape.

The iron ladder.

It was there.

It was right there.

In the corner.

In the dark.

It was a line.

It was a path.

It was a way out.

You moved.

You moved fast.

You moved to the wall.

You felt the iron.

It was cold.

It was rough.

It was real.

You climbed.

You climbed up.

The rungs were thin.

The rungs were cold.

Your fingers slipped.

Your feet slipped.

You held on.

You held tight.

You did not fall.

You did not break.

You kept going.

Up.

Up.

Up.

The air was thin.

The air was cold.

The wind was strong.

It pushed you.

It pulled you.

It wanted to drop you.

But you did not drop.

You kept climbing.

Your muscles burned.

Your lungs burned.

Your heart burned.

It was a fire.

It was a rage.

It was a will.

You reached the top.

You stood on the roof.

The roof was wet.

The roof was slick.

The rain began.

It fell in sheets.

It fell in needles.

It stung your face.

It stung your skin.

You looked out.

The city was below.

The lights were small.

The lights were far.

The smoke was thick.

The smoke was gray.

It covered the sky.

It covered the sun.

It covered the hope.

You looked at the factory.

It was a beast.

It was a tomb.

It was a cage.

You looked at your hands.

They were clean.

The blood was gone.

The dirt was gone.

The marks were gone.

You were new.

You were clean.

You were free.

Or so you thought.

You looked at the sky.

The sky was open.

The sky was wide.

The sky was dark.

But it was real.

It was yours.

You took a breath.

The air was cold.

The air was sweet.

The air was life.

You smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a true smile.

It was a silent smile.

You felt the wind.

It was a friend.

It was a guide.

It was a promise.

You felt the power.

It was in you.

It was in your blood.

It was in your bones.

You were not a hand.

You were not a gear.

You were not a part.

You were a man.

You were a soul.

You were free.

You looked at the edge.

The edge was high.

The edge was far.

The ground was hard.

The ground was cold.

The ground was waiting.

You thought of Elias.

You thought of the train.

You thought of the city.

You thought of the life.

You thought of the debt.

The debt was gone.

The debt was dead.

The debt was ash.

You thought of Mr. Thorne.

He was a ghost.

He was a shadow.

He was a lie.

You thought of the fear.

The fear was gone.

The fear was dead.

The fear was ash.

You looked at the edge.

You stepped forward.

You stepped off.

You fell.

The air rushed.

The air screamed.

The air sang.

You were flying.

You were free.

You were light.

You were air.

You were nothing.

You were everything.

You fell.

You fell.

You fell.

The ground was close.

The ground was near.

The ground was hard.

The ground was real.

You hit the ground.

The sound was loud.

The sound was final.

The sound was done.

You did not move.

You did not breathe.

You did not feel.

You were still.

You were quiet.

You were gone.

The rain stopped.

The wind stopped.

The city stopped.

The smoke stopped.

The world stopped.

And then it started.

The sun rose.

The sun was red.

The sun was hot.

The sun was bright.

It shone on the ground.

It shone on the body.

It shone on the stone.

It shone on the dust.

It shone on the silence.

It shone on the truth.

You were gone.

But you were not dead.

You were in the air.

You were in the wind.

You were in the smoke.

You were in the light.

You were in the sky.

You were free.

You were always free.

You were the choice.

You were the act.

You were the end.

And the beginning.

And the middle.

And the rest.

The rest is nothing.

The rest is silence.

The rest is peace.

The rest is you.