The cold, bitter air pushes against him. The very air around the two men seems to thicken; a frozen palate of tension. Vandor stands motionless, limbs rigid from the sheer shock he’s experiencing.

Tipton walks slowly towards him, stopping a mere four feet away. His clothes are bloodied and torn— a sign of the violence he’s been through. In his hand is the crown, chipped and broken.

As if nature were mocking them, it begins to rain, wetting the ground they stand on.

Vandor shakes his head incredulously, mouth open. “No… you- you said you wouldn’t hurt him.” The words pass through his lips softly. His rigid frame shakes ever so slightly, shivering in the cold rain. “You… you said you wouldn’t hurt him!” He repeats himself, expression twisted in anger.

Before he can say another word, Tipton shrugs, lifting the crown as if to scrutinize it. “Well, I said what needed to be said. Words are not trustworthy. Surely you knew that?”

Vandor stares at him, speechless. What could he say? Do? “I trusted you. You had no one and I saved you! We were friends!”

“Were is the keyword here,” Tipton replies. He rolls his shoulders back, gazing emotionlessly at the pathetic sight before him. “Though even then, I don’t believe that really applies. No, I never was your friend. Nor you mine.”

Again, silence settles over them, save for the rain beginning to pour. Vandor’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and he swallows thickly in attempt from letting any free.

Tipton tosses the crown to the ground at Vandor’s feet. “I did what had to be done,” he mutters.

Vandor reels on him, eyes tearing from the broken crown to who he thought was his closest friend. “No. You did what you wanted to do. You never even cared, did you? You… you’re a fucking traitor!” He lunges forward, shoving the man in front of him back forcefully.

Aggravatingly, Tipton gives no sign of regret. No sign of anger. Nothing. He simply looks at Vandor with dull eyes. “I’m not a traitor. I was never on your side.”

Rocks crumble from the side of the cliff,

Falling into the abyss.

My feet rest dangerously on the edge,

Wavering in decision.

A daily routine, to walk to the end,

Watching the surface collapse closer and closer.

The sky is dark, beckoning my decision:

Step off the ledge or walk away.

A rush of wind makes the choice,

Pushing me from the safety of solid ground.

I stumble forward and close my eyes

As my ears ring.

Have I lost my voice?

I call out your name.

You say to be quiet,

But you’d never betray.

Right?

You argue for what you believe

As I listen with full attention.

I try to speak, but you won’t perceive

As I reason against contention.

Maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe you’re right.

But that doesn’t mean you should ignore my plight.

Guess that’s it.

Guess I’m done.

I can’t keep running from each little one.

You force words I never said

As I stare in disbelief.

I try to speak, but you turn your head

As I turn away in grief.

Have I lost my voice?

I love you, but I can’t understand.

You’ve changed through the years,

And I stand alone.

Right?

Odd.

That’s the only way to describe it.

How life keeps on going yet I’m watching from the summit.

I look around and everything is gray, a dull, empty world.

But then I close my eyes and color spreads, painting up vivid dreams.

It’s like I’m asleep, but I still am aware.

It’s like I’m not me, but I’m conscious in the world I bare.

In the clouds?

No, in the stars.

Beyond our mind,

And beyond the bars.

Vivacious gestures, twirling through the square.

Scintillating sun casting down with flair.

Ebullient laughter by each affair.

Coruscating structures, enter, if you dare.

In the clouds?

No, in the stars.

Beyond our mind,

And beyond the bars.

It’s like I’m alone in feeling lost to my own mind.

It’s like I’m not me, but I stumble through blind.

I look around and everything is fuzzy, a blurry, puzzling image.

But then I close my eyes and it’s clear, revealing stories and paths untold.

Odd.

That’s the only way to describe it.

How everything seems normal, but I rest within the split.

The birds crow a weeping melody, trees clean of leaves.

The sky grows somber, wind brushing by.

It’s a scene familiar enough.

An image all have known.

It’s something deep within.

Possibly in each soul.

The ground is scarred, grass shriveled in despair.

The air grows colder, smoke thickened in the field.

Conjure the moment in mind’s eye.

It’s something fearful, a demise of time.

A ruptured cage melts within.

Perhaps it isn’t so cold?

The key is strung by thread.

Earthquakes no longer feel so foreign to my body.

After all, a broken tower is what I embody.

Shaken and torn, now I feel forlorn.

Guess it’s no wonder ‘gainst friends the warn.

A scale of one to ten, I rate it lower,

As time goes by, I grow much slower,

And I know that it’s alright if I just reach the light!

Yet there’s no ladder that I can climb and no one to help me.

One day the tower finally falls, destroyed and left alone.

Try to stifle panic in because why should that be known?

Keep it in, for when it’s time, my wrongs I will atone.

A scale of one to ten, the rate grows lower,

Close my eyes, but time goes slower,

And I know that it’s the end, so I’ll never my friend!

There’s no one there to hold my hand and no one to set me free.

Earthquakes are all I’ve felt in my bones.

After all, life hardly lets you sit upon thrones.

Broken and gone, I turned out a pawn.

Guess it’s no wonder why, like others, I’m withdrawn.

Hidden are the feelings people are raised to shun. It’s a funny thought, really. For example, when he was younger, Gavin lost his favorite stuffed animal, however, he was always scolded for mulling over such a thing. Why be upset? It was just a toy, something that didn’t matter, after all.

Swallow back the aching sensation. That’s something he grew accustomed to. Everyone has. Years passed and what have people learned? What has Gavin learned? It’s unprofessional and unnecessary to express emotions when it could be taken as a burden to another. He’d ignore the burning in his nose, stinging in his eyes, the physical pain withholding such feelings could cause. That’s a good thing, though, or so he’s taught. People are often unreasonable when they allow their emotions to seize control, after all.

Guilt builds within his stomach as his father shoves him back. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you just not care that your own mother died?” His words were venomous, a pierce to Gavin’s heart at each individual syllable. He chose not to comment, refraining from an explanation for his actions. He did care- more than his father could ever know. But how would he know that? People should just shove past such feelings, after all.

The Scarlet Letter, a well-known tale.

The Scarlet Letter, where true love fails.

The Scarlet Letter, branded with shame.

The Scarlet Letter, brought through claims.

Puritan New England, with distilled lifestyles.

Boston, Massachusetts, where sin still defiles.

Hester, oh Hester, a beautiful rose.

Hester, sweet Hester, ensure no one knows.

Hester, dear, keep the lock to your breast.

Hester, oh Hester, let the secrets rest.

Pearl, sweet child, you’re unlike the rest.

Pearl, little angel, some say you’re possessed.

Pearl, darling, remember who you serve.

Pearl, sweet child, behind the wall you preserve.

Arthur, oh Arthur, a reverend of God.

Arthur, sweet Arthur, let the mark be unshod.

Arthur, dear Arthur, face the bitter test.

Arthur, oh Arthur, let alone those who detest.

Puritan New England, where righteous men stay.

Boston, Massachusetts, with those who disobey.

The Scarlet Letter, a practiced story told.

The Scarlet Letter, where many critics scold.

The Scarlet Letter, embroidered with despair.

The Scarlet Letter, which all people should wear.

Then it begins. Our final moments.

A large screen lay across the room, displaying how long we have left to live in bold, red numbers.

“Come on, come on, come on-!” I find myself mumbling under my breath frantically, struggling against the rope that holds me to the chair. My skin burns, and I have to bite my lip as a distraction from the friction. I twist and pull at the rope to no avail. I don’t even realize tears had slipped down my face until one runs over my lip, a salty taste following it.

After a few moments, I come to a stop, heaving breaths of air as I look around.

Where... What…

Then I see it. Feet away from me, a pocket knife lay on a table. Immediately, I squirm in the chair, jumping and shuffling over as quick as I can.

Panic begins to rise in my chest as I look up to see how long there is left.

Two minutes. I can make it count.

It takes a second, but I finally get to the table, and I maneuver the chair around so I can grab the knife. The cold metal of its handle grazes my hand. I pick it up and flip it open, sawing at the rope as fast as possible. Again, I hear myself mumble unintelligibly under my breath, glancing up at the screen every few seconds.

With a jolt, my hands pull free, and I feel a smile stretch across my face, overwhelmed by a sense of panic and happiness all at once.

Just as I move forward to free my legs, a pair of hands wrap around my arms, forcing them back behind the chair and twisting my hand painfully until I drop the knife.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

My blood runs cold. When I don’t answer, he pulls my arms back further, causing me to wince in pain.

“I asked you a question. I’d suggest you answer it,” he threatens, nearly whispering in my ear.

Shrugging my shoulders and struggling against his grip, I snarl at him, “Trying to get free; what does it look like?”

As I speak, I feel cold metal snap around my wrists. My eyes widen as I realize he cuffed me to the chair.

Finally, he lets go of my arms, leaving me to fight against the metal instead. He steps around the chair, circling me until he stands to my right, letting out a soft sigh. “Time’s almost up.”

In horror, I snap upwards, staring at the numbers grow lower and lower.

In my peripheral vision, I see him shake his head softly, mocking me. As he does, however, his expression shows pity. “This is what happens when you play the hero.” He stares into my eyes with a cold demeanor. “Having hope… being delusional… it costs you in the real world. Life really isn’t fair.”

Ten.

My mouth opens as I go to say something, but the words get stuck in my throat.

Nine.

“Now their blood is on your hands.”

Eight.

Everything grows cloudy and I breathe heavier, feeling pressure build up behind my eyes.

Seven.

I can feel the guilt clawing its way up my throat, threatening to choke me. I shouldn’t have stepped in. And now they’ll die because I was stupid and now it’s my fucking fault-

Six.

He moves, pulling a pistol out from his side and making sure it’s loaded.

Five.

“Nhg- No… N-No! Pl- Please- NO!” The sound bounces off the walls, seeming almost foreign to me, as if I hadn’t been the one to scream. “Stop it! STOP IT!”

Four.

The sound of a gun being cocked is the response I receive.

Three.

The numbers blur together, a mass of color before me as my face contorts in grief.

Two.

With a final shake of his head, the man shrugs, waiting for the timer to end.

One.

One moment I’m staring at the screen, not really seeing it, and the next, a bright light consumes my vision. My eyes close instinctively as my ears ring. I look back up, feeling sick to my stomach.

They’re gone. And it’s my fault. They…

The cold barrel of a gun rests against my temple, and I stiffen in response.

Just barely, I hear his voice speak solemnly, as if from experience. “That’s what you get for having a dream.”

Light filters in through the window, glaring slightly in my eye. Adjusting my position, I sigh and lean back in the chair. A plate of cold food lay forgotten on the desk in front of me. I glance around my room before standing to my feet, stretching to relieve my limbs of their ache.

Where is he? He should’ve shown up hours ago. He and I planned to hang out for awhile during the weekend, and already, he’s an hour late. Part of me begins to worry, an unsettling feeling sinking into the pit of my stomach.

Mindlessly, my feet carry me outside, myself only pausing to slip on some boots. The second I open the door, a dizzying sensation numbs my body. For a moment, I almost think I’m going to be sick or pass out. However, neither happen. In an instant, I slump against the railing, gasping for air and blinking harshly.

Again, the world is spinning, thoughts scattered everywhere as I take in a deep breath.

I feel my feet give out from under me, but instead of hitting the cold cement of my porch, I’m met with rough dirt, muddled with pebbles here and there. My eyes snap open, heart pounding in my chest. Through bleary eyes I see my hands clawing at the dirt underneath my body as I scramble to stand.

“Look at you,” a deep voice growls from behind me, causing my hair to stand on end, “fucking pathetic.” The voice spits his words out, shoving me enough to cause me to stumble. A fist roughly pulls me up by the collar as another hand smacks me across the face.

My cheek stings, and my eyes water unhelpfully. “D-Dad-“ my voice speaks before I realize it, sounding foreign, as if it’s not my own.

The man’s expression darkens, face inching closer to mine. “Don’t call me dad. You lost that right years ago.”

At his words, a pang of guilt washes over me. “I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I- I didn’t! Please! I-“ I feel hot tears slide down my face. My throat burns at the intensity of which I scream, though part of me questions why I did in the first place. What did I do?

Immediately, I’m slammed to the ground. “Then why the hell did you do it? Huh? It’s all your fault!” As I hear the man reaching for something, I kick his knee as hard as I can, hearing a slight pop. As he howls in pain, I stand, running as fast as possible with only one thought in mind.

I have to get to her.

My legs carry me across streets, the sound of shouting echoing far behind me. My breathes come out in huffs of short air, and just as I think I’m going to collapse, I see it. Her house.

Pushing harder, I pump my arms, watching the figure turn to me in surprise as I grow closer.

“J- Jay-“ My words are nearly a whisper, and suddenly, I realize I’m not myself. In front of me is, well, me.

Looking down at my clothes, my eyes widen.

I’m him.

I look back up, seeing myself freeze. Just the sight of me brings tears to my eyes, an odd feeling arising in my chest. Seeing myself through his eyes brings a sense of happiness briefly. However, that happiness is replaced by fear as guilt builds within my stomach- er, his. I watch as my eyes widen in fear, and my breath hitches as I see myself back away in fear.

A pale expression falls over my face, and I see my hands grip the railing tightly, knuckles turning white. “What did you do?”