“You don’t seem to get it Brian, it has always been different for me since you left.”
I let the statement air out, seeing as though it probably took a lot for Robert to say. It worried me that I had never kept in touch with Rob as much as I should have; he had been my best friend for years, after all. He seemed distant, as if he was expecting me to leave and his brow was glistening with sweat �" why was he so distraught? I had no choice but to respond in some fashion, otherwise I would risk hurting his feelings �" it surprised me how emotionally detached I was, but what surprised me even more, was my lack of clarity in searching for the right counter to his clearly thought out invocation. How was I to seem concerned, without coming off as overly invested? The words fled my mind like screaming civilians from natural disaster. I could see that the tension was already reaching levels of no return. Panicking to myself, I discerned that the only appropriate response at this point would be silence. I would wait for Robert to continue, seeing as though it looked like he had more to say anyways.
“You aren’t listening to me Brian; this isn’t something you can just ignore. You know it as well as I do that I don’t seem the same. It is unfortunate that we had to meet on such horrible circumstances, but I am glad that you are back in town, even if it is only for a few weeks. A lot can happen in seventeen years, Brian. A lot.” I could see that Rob was more than just shaken. He seemed like he was trying to warn me, but whatever cryptic revelation he was attempting to communicate was being lost in translation due to his vague wordings and sentimental baggage. I read his blank stare as my cue to act and so I had to think quickly lest I would risk him becoming more enraged. “Look Rob, I know this might sound crazy, but I wasn’t aware that our friendship meant all that much to you. We were close, for sure, but I had just assumed that if you wanted to stay in contact with me, you would! It isn’t like these things are planned out, Rob. They just happen.”
Immediately after my rushed utterance, I realized that I was too harsh. Robert looked hurt, and confused �" as if to say: “No one will ever understand me.” I felt a wave of emotion drown me, it seems as though I too had changed over the years. Robert sat at the other end of the table in the quaint coffee-shop looking down at the wooden plateau where his arms rested. People walked in and out of the shop with the subtle chime of a bell at the door’s connection with the threshold. It was amazing for me to think that each individual in the shop had a life of their own, separate from mine. They each had emotions, problems, and goals that I would surely never know about completely. I felt different from them, but what was separating me? Surely, the detachment from the masses all around me was only of my mind’s creation �" what other explanation could there be? Yet with each fleeting moment, my awareness of this isolation became more profound.
Without hesitation, almost as if he was reading my mind, Robert spoke in a tone very much akin to someone beginning to cry. “I feel so alone Brian. I am surrounded by people every day, but I still have this longing to feel accepted. You can’t tell me that you don’t experience the same thing! You can’t sit there and live a lie, telling me that you never have felt alone!” Robert’s words pierced my cognizance with such tenacity and ferocity that I felt impaled by my own feelings. Metaphorical blood splattered across the shop and my insides burned with a longing to leave the situation I now felt trapped in. For some reason, I felt incapable of giving Robert the satisfaction of knowing that he was right. It felt pathetic to understand and accept that we were still so very similar in the way we felt about the world. However, I was a different man than I was when we were still close. Boyish jokes and trivial pranks were the foundation of our friendship, but I was now ashamed of my past immaturity. I was embarrassed to think that I was once alive and carefree. Those days had left me behind as much as I had left them. Robert was merely a casualty in the war of my adulthood, it was nothing personal.
My prolonged waiting once again forced Robert to continue. He sighed greatly, shifted in his seat, and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry Brian, I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated to care. We are grown men now, and I guess this is just the way things have to be. I know you must still be mourning your sister’s death. I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you and I feel selfish for springing this on you so abruptly. You must understand, though. I felt like this would be my only opportunity.” Robert’s profession of truth was heartfelt and I couldn’t help but feel guilty for my internal coldness.
“It’s alright Rob. I am just going through a lot right now �" like you said. Returning here to my hometown would have been nice under any other circumstance, but I didn’t choose for my sister to be murdered. I wouldn’t wish this pain upon my worst enemy. So you are right when you say that you can only imagine it. Here me out, though. Maybe when things settle down a bit, we can talk some more about all of this.” Robert seemed to crack a smile for a second, but it faded away as quickly as the condensation from my breath did in the winter air. He looked at me, sighed once more and took a moment of silence of his own. Looking back at him, I could see how dark his eyes looked. His hair, speckled with snow, matched his gray persona. He was wearing a leather jacket and overcoat, with a wool head wrap. His slacks were stained and looked old, while his new loafers contrasted with them greatly. He looked out of place with his somewhat disheveled demeanor coupled with unruly facial hair. His presence, while large in stature was diminutive in noticeability. He had an air of pity about him.
Just as I was expecting him to say something, Robert stood up, shook my hand and walked out of the coffee shop. I sat there for several minutes trying to decipher his movement and I cursed myself under my breath for not stopping him because I could not shake the feeling that it was something I had done subconsciously to make him leave without saying a single word more. I dismissed the train of thought any further, however, realizing that letting Robert’s mind games get to me would only confuse me more-so than they already had. I decided to look at my surroundings instead, perhaps if I savored the environment, my troubles would escape me. The shop was small, well furnished, and had the aroma of friendliness. Even if one might fine the aesthetics overly generic, at least one could be satisfied with the familiarity. It was the type of place that felt interchangeable with the idea of relaxation, despite the fact that customers were fairly common and a low roar of bustling activity was inherent in such a truth.
As I panned the scene, I found a rack of newspapers not too far from where I was sitting. I counted to ten, rose, and grasped the first paper my hand landed upon. Attempting to return to my seat, I noticed that a sophomoric couple had taken it; I was too embarrassed to ask for it back and besides - they looked happy where they were. Rather than taking the time to find another suitable seat in the shop, I decided it would be best to go outside and savor the brisk weather. A commune with nature would surely calm my nerves and so I did not waste another second inside. I felt my thin stubble, heard the chime of someone entering the shop, and walked towards the exit with unnecessary haste.
Outside, you could see the thick blanket of vibrant snow that layered over the otherwise dull transection. My hometown was small and as a result, it never felt like you were too far from anywhere. All the faces looked familiar. All the voices sounded the same. Individuality, while existent, was masked by routine. I always felt like I was close to comfort, but I was never there. The flakes of white lingered on the clothing of my nameless visitors. I laughed to myself upon realizing that I was more acquainted with the snow than the people carrying it. I chuckled once more, but with less enthusiasm. I giggled and then sighed loudly.
A few thoughtless moments passed with my eyes closed. Every once in a while, it was common for me to want to block out all stigmas. It seemed to me that I was too busy, my mind constantly burdened. I tried to remind myself the importance of mental peace, yet I always found that such a rationalization only made me more stressed. Something was clearly wrong with me, I thought; why else were my nights sleepless and my days a chore. Even still, there was no one specific causation that could be the origin of my misfortune. Like most things in life, I was unsatisfied with the lack of an answer I possessed.
Remembering the newspaper I had grasped, I opened my eyes and had them fall on the headline. A subtle tear streaked down my right cheek and fell upon my pristine khakis. “Murderer Takes Another Victim: Families Continue To Mourn.” I kept rereading the words over and over again as if it was some sort of cruel prank. No matter how much I longed to escape the misery of my sister’s passing, it would always find a way to enter back into my consciousness. It seemed too cliché and stereotypical to be reality. It seemed too f*****g pathetic to be actuality. I cursed under my breath, while feeling an acute Déjà vu to when Robert had left. I felt helpless. I felt pointless. I am pointless.
A half hour passed with me mourning to myself before I finally acquired the mental fortitude to read the article. It read like all the others before it. This small town still couldn’t believe that there was a deranged psychopath roaming the streets unseen. It couldn’t fathom the fact that this killer likely came in contact with most of the population on a weekly basis. The police couldn’t understand how one individual could cause so much havoc without leaving a trail. Sixteen had already fallen into the cold hands of The Mediator and no one had witnessed a single scream. The article briefly discussed the killer’s methods, but of course, I had already committed them to memory. This monster pierces his victims with fire-pokers on each limb after knocking them out unconscious so that when they awake �" they are already pinned to the ground and helpless. The wounds however, are not what kills the victims. The Arbitrator proceeds to then drain the fluid from the wounds, pries open the mouth of the victims, and forces them to drown in their own blood. The killer has no known preferred victim, which is most likely an intentional effort to remain untraceable.
I closed the newspaper carefully, then violently ripped it to shreds. I took the scraps and placed them in the nearby trash-can where they belonged before walking off to the convenient store across the street. I was breathing uncontrollably and I could feel my heartbeat racing beyond recognition. I started to remember all the fond memories of my childhood with my sister and by the time I reached the store doors, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Embarrassed, I ducked into the closest aisle and pretended to pick out a candy-bar as a small child ran past me. I gave myself a few seconds for composure and continued to the personal hygiene section. I got some disposable razors, shaving cream, and toothpaste before heading to the counter. Almost absent mindedly, I asked for my favorite pack of cigarettes and remorsefully grabbed the first adult magazine on the rack to my left. I paid for my goods and left the store feeling cluttered and rushed.
Walking down the sidewalk towards my hotel, I realized it was getting dark. I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious, knowing that my sister’s killer could be any of the individuals I smiled at on my way down the street. I hurried myself to my room on the third floor of the hotel and locked the door behind me with haste. Letting my breath catch up with me, I finally sat down at the foot of my bed and meditated on the day. I contemplated suicide, amongst other things, but in the end found that ending my life before my sister’s funeral would be against the promise I made to myself. I would see my sister’s killer to justice, so that it would be the last thing I ever did.
The moon started to shine through my window and I imagined that attempted sleep would be the only solace attainable for a man such as myself. I took the adult magazine out of the plastic bag, but found that none of the sights I perceived mustered any arousal. I thought of the waitress at the restaurant I went to before meeting Rob, then I thought of my high school crush, I even thought of the stewardess I was sure was hitting on me on my flight before having an acute mental blockage. Defeated, I tore the magazine almost as manically as I did the newspaper earlier that day. I turned off all lights in the room, closed my eyes and chuckled halfheartedly. I knew that I wouldn’t be getting any peace that night.
* * *
When the morning came, it seeped its incandescent glory through the cracked shutters over the windowpane. The light struck me upon my scarred visage with an intensity that shook my foundations. I shivered with surprise and rose to find my eyes weighing just as heavily on me as they did when I retired the night before. I rose from my sleepless prison only to find my clothes disheveled on the floor. In my absent-mindedness, I had forgotten to fold them correctly before attempting sleep. Once again I cursed myself for my forgetfulness and not too long after, I made a mental note that cursing was becoming a rather prominent bad-habit of mine.
“F**k it.”
The next course of action taken upon most individuals at this time would be to ready themselves for the day. I, however, always had a hard time figuring out when to start. The furnishings in the room where dull. The walls, slightly cracked, were old and the paint upon them stained. They reminded me of myself and so I took off my undergarments and entered the molded shower to bathe thoroughly. My hair had always been thick and because of that, it gathered much sweat and grease throughout the night. I could never go a morning without showering first, unless �" of course �" I wanted to embarrass myself. I lathered the cheap shampoo provided for me at the room and closed my eyes as I rinsed it from my hair. I was always afraid of getting the suds in my eyes, even though I knew that it couldn’t possibly pain me that much. Having not ever experienced it though, I could never be sure of myself.
The steam from my prolonged cleansing bellowed out from the spaces between the shower-curtains and the bathroom tile. I stepped out onto the already damp floor and noticed that the mirror in the bathroom was completely covered in mist. Continuing my morning routine, I sat on the toilet with the seat down and my towel still wrapped around my waist. I put my hands against my face, closed my eyes, and pretended to pray to a god I didn’t believe in. Once again I chuckled, this time genuinely.
I grew tired of waiting and rose to perceive my obscured reflection in the mirror. I could barely make out the dimensions of my face due to the streaks of water descending down the surface of the glass. I took a face-rag from the cabinet to my right and wiped down the mirror with a sluggish demeanor about my movements. Now, I could clearly see everything in my image imprinted on the mirror. My eyes drew towards the scar on my left check and I noticed that it seemed more prominent. I had always wondered how people could look at someone like me with a scar and not be curious enough to ask about its origin. I knew that people most likely did this out of respect and common-courtesy, but I had always found it odd that ignoring something seemingly negative was equal to positively affecting the entity to which the negative circumstance was apparent in. I knew that they saw the scar on my face. I also knew that they must understand that I would have had to come to terms with its existence, as well. Therefore, why was it acceptable to ignore it? Standing in front of the mirror, I became frustrated with the seemingly endless amount of questions I possessed that pertained to absolutely nothing important. I put on my dress clothes and walked out of the bathroom, but not before brushing my teeth thoroughly �" till my gums bled.
In an hour, the funeral service for my sister would commence. I was prepared in the sense that I was presentable in appearance, but that was where the line was drawn. Close friends would be there, family would be there, and I am sure some people I didn’t recognize would be there as well. I was prepared for all of the common condolences I would get. I was prepared for all of the sniffling and all of the tear-stained faces. I was even prepared to make my speech on my sister’s behalf. I had spent countless hours on it, despite it being relatively short. I knew it could never do my sister justice, but I tried my best.
I arrived to the grounds where the funeral was to be conducted to find that only one person had made it to the location before me. Lisa, my sister’s former employer, was sitting on a nearby bench dressed in all black, as was expected. I approached her to say hello and to thank her for attending, but she addressed me before I opened my mouth to speak. “Brain, you are so incredibly strong. I know that you have been through a lot in such a short deviation of time. I am terribly sorry for you and your family.” “Thank you, Lisa. It means a lot to me that there are still examples of people who truly care. I just wish I had more to say, I’m sure you already know that words often fail me.” “Brian, don’t waste another second worrying about it. I understand completely. I will see you at the reception, but more people have arrived that I am sure will want to speak with you.”
I walked away from Lisa with heaviness in my chest. It wasn’t that words failed me, I thought to myself, it was just that I had too much to say in not enough time to ever say it. It was then that I realized why I was so emotionally cluttered with Robert the day before. How could I focus on one sentence at a time when I was barraged with a myriad of sentiments? The stress on my mind was always more detrimental risk than the implication of silence. Inactivity always seemed the logical choice when the pressure was too much for me to comprehend.
The funeral went along with nothing out of the ordinary occurring. It was a very respectable and sincere gathering. I was content with that, if nothing else. Silence was only penetrated by the slight whimpers of shaken individuals and by the adjustments in seats as people situated themselves to become more comfortable. The weather was brisk, and there were a few individuals shivering in the moments of increased wind. I scanned the entirety of the group and saw eyes staring back at me. I could almost see myself in them for that split second that we connected. I could almost feel them feeling my misery. The shades of black against the white frost were picturesque. The willowed trees of old in the backdrop of the funeral were a numbing reminder of mortality.
I saw Lisa once again tearing up in the second-to-last row of the gathering. I assumed that she picked the seat as to avoid too many people noticing her emotional state. I pitied her for a moment, knowing that she was a good mother and a hard worker. She was intelligent and steadfast in her positivity and so to see her cry was a shame. It was a shame to know that this existence bred such sorrow to people like Lisa. It was a shame to know that people like my sister had to live in a world where life can be taken so easily. We are so fragile, yet they are so strong. Why couldn’t it have been me instead?
The only thing left to accomplish for the funeral was my speech. Everyone seemed to be anticipating my closing words and my anxiety was left unshackled in my mind. My heartbeat was static, but powerful. Sweat ran down the back of my neck and onto the undershirt beneath my dress-clothes. I rose to the podium, and prepared myself to orate. I had no paper with me, for I had memorized everything:
“Thank you all for being here, I am not the most distinguished speaker �" so please forgive me. (pause) What can you say of someone who tried to leave everyone she met with more joy than she found them? How could you describe a beauty to someone more completely than them witnessing the beauty themselves? These are the questions I asked myself while I was thinking of what I would say today and after days of thought, there was only one answer that made sense to me. (pause) You all have seen Maria. You have seen her doing works of charity and most of you have seen her grow up in this town wanting nothing more than to spread her smile to the masses. Surely, Maria not only broke the mold, but also the entire workbench with her presence in this world and by that, I mean no exaggeration. A beacon of strength in this otherwise brittle planet, Maria showed through perseverance that no task is too great when you have the confidence in yourself to make a difference. My memories as a child with Maria are some of the most fond that I possess and I am sure that each of you in these rows could recall a time when Maria inspired you to live a better life. Even in death, she refuses to die, for in her life, she lived more than many could ever live in a thousand lifetimes. So let us not be burdened with grief that Maria was taken away from us so much sooner than we all wished, but rather �" let us see the value in what she taught us. Thank you.”
As I left the funeral, I started to cry once more thinking of how hard it was for me to practice my own preaching. I was reassured, however, knowing that others were much stronger than I. Walking with my hands in my pockets down the street, I kept humming to myself my sister’s favorite song. I knew the melody more than any other tune, but I had forgotten the name of the piece itself years ago. I had also forgotten why it was her favorite song in the first place, despite having her repeat the reason to me constantly in my youth. “Forgetful Brian, always forgetting the unforgettable,” she would say jokingly.
My final stop for the day was the police station and I didn’t waste much time heading that way after the reception. I was supposed to meet up with the primary investigator on the case to discuss any new developments in my sister’s murder, but I feared that much of the new information would be shielded from me. Small town politics could sometimes be aggressive and so I readied myself beforehand for anything that could be thrown my way. Luckily, the station was not too far from where the reception was held. I hastened my pace and kept to the leftmost side of the sidewalk for several minutes before realizing that very few people, if any, would be driving on that particular street at that particular hour. I stepped onto the road itself in an attempt to somehow save time, but I knew that such a reason was illogical. In reality, it just made me feel a little more alive.
As I entered the station, many officers were bustling about. The building seemed excessively busy for a small town, but I imagined that the murderer being still at large had a lot to do with the intensity of the atmosphere. The third floor is where I would find detective Logan and so I didn’t waste a second ascending the stairs, even though the elevators weren’t being used. A few sharp turns and side-steps to avoid collisions with rushed officers was all it took to reach my destination. Logan greeted me with a firm handshake before opening the door to his office and offering me a seat.
Logan was a tall man, towering over me by two feet. His skin was tanned and his hair a chocolate-brown. His voice was dominant and unforgiving, but his demeanor was not unpleasant. He spoke with authority and conciseness, never leaving a sentence ambiguous or weak. I admired his confidence, secretly wondering how it was possible to remain so stoic with a position as disheartening as his. Maybe it was the thought of doing good that kept him going. Whatever the case was, it didn’t matter. He was clearly at home with his profession. He convinced me that he was the right man for the job.
“Hello Mr. Cresting, I just want to start this meeting off by getting some legalities out of the way. Any information shared with you is to stay confidential. If we were to find that anything is leaked, you could be held responsible,” Logan boomed. “I understand, I wouldn’t dare jeopardize the operation here. I am just desperate for any news,” I said with much melancholy in my presence. “Well, I am afraid that there aren’t many new developments to tell you. We have been working around the clock, but unless we get some sort of miracle �" we will have to see if any new evidence is left at the next murder-site. As of now, this b*****d hasn’t left a single identifiable trace. The only thing I can tell you is that the fire pokers used in the murders are self-made, because no known store sells the design. Also, it seems as though the victims are not killed where we find their bodies, but rather, they are placed there post-mortem. Data analyzers are still trying to find a possible trend in the locations of the victims, but so far the work has been fruitless. I know it isn’t much, but it’s all we have.”
I left the station unsatisfied, but I wasn’t sure why I expected anything more from the meeting. I knew that the police would continue their search and that eventually the killer would be caught, but even if the killer was caught within the next hour, it would always be too late for me. Back when the murders first started happening, my family and I warned my sister to leave town to come and live with one of us. She respectively declined for reasons we will never know. I curse myself daily for not being more adamant with her. She deserved better than to have me halfheartedly beg for her safety.
Detective Logan gave me a dossier with copies all of the police reports from the murders. Technically, they weren’t supposed to be released yet, but we had an understanding. I walked down yet another sidewalk to reach the hotel, griping the folder tightly in my weathered hands. I felt my stubble, realizing that I had forgotten to shave, despite remembering to buy shaving cream at the convenient store. I summed up the revelation as mostly trivial, though, knowing that my words spoke volumes over my facial hair.
The coldness of the air was starting to affect me as I hurried down the sidewalk back to the side of town where my hotel was. I would stop there to change clothes before continuing my day. As the seconds passed, I became careless. A sudden gust of wind knocked me off my balance and with my hindered footing, I dropped the dossier. The wind then picked up the typical manila folder and bluntly threw it into a nearby alley. Understanding the gravity of the situation, I immediately rushed after the dossier to save its contents, not only for myself, but also from someone else. As I approached the now dirtied folder, the wind took it a few more feet forward. I was becoming exceedingly frustrated and decided to step on the folder as to prevent it from moving more than it already had. The dirt from my shoes was surely better than losing the contents all-together, but just as I bent over to pick up the folder, I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head �" then nothing.
* * *
I awoke in a very poorly lit room stained with coagulated and dried blood. I was abhorred immediately to find myself in a prison-cell of sorts and stripped naked. My hair had been shaved, and my body slightly scrapped with superficial wounds. Around me, were heaps of bodies all gray and lifeless. The room had a hum of machinery that was deafening in its consistency. I started to scream for freedom, knowing very well that my captor would never relinquish me willingly. A million thoughts were running through my head and a million more followed. The pain I felt in my mind was only matched by the ferocity of my helplessness. I clawed at the iron bars that constrained me. I cursed at the world and at the f*****g waste of life that had not only killed my sister, but who now would rob me of my dying wish.
“Why do you scream when it would be wiser to listen?”
Out of the darkness, just beyond the bars in front of me appeared The Mediator who wore nothing but a burlap, floor-length jacket dirtied with smeared flesh and an industrial-strength welding mask. The killer’s stance was that of extreme pride, a fact that caused my mind to throb uncontrollably. I weighed my options, but accepted the fruitlessness of my cogitations. Amounting to nothing would be my fate, I assumed, but I wasn’t going to go out without mentally prying the sick f**k before me. “Do not act so surprised Brian, it was going to come to this eventually. You know this, I know you do, because I have watched you for so long,” the murderer said with an acutely condescending tone. “Why you f*****g monster! Just tell me why! Nothing I say will make a difference and you are going to kill me anyway, so just tell me why! What do you gain from this! Why are you such a coward!?”
As I awaited a response, I looked around the room to find more bodies �" all of which were maimed terribly. Human anatomy was strewn across the walls and floors of the enclosure and it took all of my willpower not to gag at what I perceived. The foundations for life were all around me: blood, skin, hair, and flesh. I realized that I too was only a being made of these elements. I was just as gray and just as inert. Roaches crawled about the floor everywhere and small pieces of bone and tissue fed the larger rats while the smaller ones were left to die in the corners. Tools of torture were lined in racks hanging from the ceiling, still dripping with fluid. The windows in the room were blocked by wooden coverings, making for a perfect backdrop to woe. The only reason that I was able to discern my surroundings was due to my eyes adjusting to the lack of light. I chuckled to myself at how quickly I had assessed the situation. I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not such a trait was positive or negative.
“I am afraid that you aren’t exactly one to talk when it comes to cowardice, Brian. Have you already forgotten that you left your fiancé to die in your old burning house? You said you loved her, Brian. Why didn’t you go back in to save her? You spent your entire life trying to escape the things that actually made you happy and then you threw away both your wealth and your new life for naught. Rest assured, Brian �" I know that I am not in the right. However, neither are you. Do you think other people don’t know this? What about dear Lisa, who told me just the other day that she would risk life and limb to save her child �" do you think she does not hold contempt for you? You can’t judge me for my actions, for you are nothing but a husk. However, you should not live in fear anymore Brian, for I will reveal to you the secrets of which others would hide from you.”
I started to cry uncontrollably, realizing that the killer before me, the monster whom I wanted nothing but death for, was right. Why else would I be here, I thought? Surely, this was my punishment, but also my chance at redemption. Disillusioned or not, I began to abide in the pointlessness of my self-perceived lack of character. I began to believe in the truth that always was under the cinders of emotion. I counted to ten, rose, and placed my hand on the first iron bar it fell upon. Afterwards, I stared directly into the welding mask hoping to find eyes looking back at me, but I saw only the harsh gaze of metal. It occurred to me that the mask was not all too different from the faces I saw at the funeral. It was just as glossy and just as damaged as any teary eye. It was then that I began to open my mouth in a final attempt to justify my existence, but my lips were trembling and I had lost the will to convince myself that I wanted to speak. It was true that I wanted to defend myself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to raise my voice again. I had said enough.
“You aren’t listening to me Brain; this isn’t something you can just ignore. You know as well as I do that we all have our burdens to carry. You choose to live a lie every day, but I couldn’t do it any longer. Just as every dead leaf must fall from tree, so must every person realize their flaws and succumb to their nature. The world makes us numb to this fact, it tells us that we must fight to change. I only tell you what you already know to be true. I am setting you free, just like I have all the ones before you. I, however, can only give you the key �" it is you who has to use it.”
I took the key from The Mediator’s hand and opened my cell door before walking to the modified operating table on the other side of the room. My vision clouded with sentiment, I could barely make out a path not impeded by organic waste. After laying down, I stretched out my limbs so that they fit into the metal fixtures to keep them in place and waited for what I would finally feel.
I am a young American author who is looking to receive harsh criticism in order to hone my craft. I enjoy the most brutal of opinions more than sugar-coated nonsense. I know I am an amateur so this is.. more..
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