It was 11PM and Sam had just closed his diary for the night. Usually, he would have finished writing by 8PM and passed out on the rock-solid slab he had become used to calling a bed. But today was different and he was restless.

Prison is a tough life for anyone unlucky enough to be stuck inside a cell and Sam's experience was no different. His first few years were rough to say the least and he quickly learned who he should befriend, and whom he needs to stay the hell away from... at least, as much as possible within the tight confounds of the prison grounds. Despite horrifying situations he had endured over the years, part of him was grateful of his circumstances. The boy that entered the prison compound was gone, eviscerated and replaced by the hardened man of today. He all chalked it down to his habit of writing in his diary. To keep himself sane during his time in jail Sam had requested a diary from the outside. This was more difficult than it first appeared because Sam had insisted on a real, paper diary.

"Paper?" the guard had said to him with such shock, you'd have thought he was trying to learn a new foreign word. "Whatever could you need anything like that for? You know we don't really do 'paper' anymore." He curled his fingers as he said the word paper. He almost sounded sarcastic as if Sam had made up the word.

"My mother..." Sam replied meekly.. He was a strong introvert and didn't like speaking. Every word seemed to take a great deal of effort from him. "She always... insisted that I have the real thing. It's more... here."

The guard looked at Sam and lightly scratched his head. "Hmmmm...." he said while gently moving his hand down from his head to stroke the tail ends of his perfectly combed moustache. "Well... I'll see what I can do." He said as he twiddled. "But there's no promises from me boy! You'll get what you're given."

Sam's mouth contorted upwards at each end, which the guard believed to be a smile. It was not exactly pretty to look at, as if a puppet master had attached strings to the corner of Sam's mouth and started to pull at them from above. The lack of any genuine expression resulting on his face, and the deadness of his black eyes made the guard feel uncomfortable.

He mumbled to himself: "Why did I get stuck with him?" before walking away with a grunt.

Despite what the guard said, he made sure Sam got a real paper diary. Over time, something about Sam struck a chord with him. He was meek, timid and honestly quite pathetic. He knew of his crime of course, yet physically, Sam didn't seem to fit what he had been accused of in court. Sometimes he wondered if this walking stick-man was innocent after all! But he perished the thought every time. He was, after all, a lowly guard. Who was he, in the grand scheme of things, to question the wisdom of the system. More importantly, the guard knew about Sam's encounter with the other inmates and felt a degree of sympathy towards him. Perhaps through guilt or a lack of being able to protect Sam, he strove uncharacteristically hard to find exactly the type of diary he had been tasked to find.

When the guard had finally tracked down a paper diary and received it he immediately strolled towards Sam's cell to deliver it personally. He knocked upon the cell grates three times with strong, confident strikes. Sam stirred from his sleep, and stretched his arms out like a lazy cat waking up from a satisfying nap. He sat upright in his bed, yawning and gradually taking in the fascinating scenery that was his room. In front of him: a white wall. To his right: a white wall. Above him: a white celling. Alright, he'd had enough soaking in the view for one day and decided to clamber out of bed. As he stumbled out awkwardly and crashed to the floor, he dragged himself like a caterpillar before tightly grabbing the steel bars of his cage and supporting his weight with them.

By this point, the guard was used to seeing Sam's idiosyncrasies and chuckled to himself as he recalled the very first time he saw this sight. At first, Sam freaked him out. He walks around limply, like his body is too heavy and speaks as if the weight of the words he says are too heavy. His eyes sag and there is an emptiness to them as if the weight of his own soul is too much to bear within them.

"Eyes are the window to the soul... definitely not true in his case." the guard used to say when he saw Sam.

When Sam was finally level with the guard, he shook somewhat attempting to keep himself up. When he tried to point at the book with his left hand he quickly thrust it back onto the bar before toppling over. Learning from this, he just gently gestured with his head towards the book the guard was carrying. The guard smiled.

"Here you go boy. A paper diary."

What befell the guard's view shocked him. He suddenly heard droplets hit the floor lightly and thought it may be starting to rain outside. But he quickly realised that the sound was coming from Sam. He was crying, yet the sides of his mouth were strung up once again into an elongated smile. Unlike their very first encounter, the guard was comfortable. In fact, he felt encapsulated in a bubble of serenity. It was hard to describe where this feeling came from, after all, he was merely delivering a diary but, if he had to describe it he would say: he felt like for the first time, he was performing his job and making a difference.

"Thank... you..." said Sam slowly and trembling. The guard gently passed the diary through the metal bars towards Sam.

"You take care of that, boy. It cost me a great deal to find it for you."

As Sam politely took the diary, he mentally noted that it was warm. No-one had ever been nice to him his whole life. He had a pretty bad reputation for freaking other people out, and he was well aware of it. Despite his best intentions people tended to want to be as far away from him as possible. Well... normal people that is. His awkwardness and weirdness stood out in prison which had made him easy pickings in the past.

From that moment of receiving the diary, Sam immediately started a religious habit of writing in it every 7PM in his cell. No matter what went awry that day, he would write. He would write, write and write. The stroke of his pen felt perfect flowing across the pages of his thick diary. If there was such a thing as individual destiny, he had found part of his.

But now, today, was the last time he would need to write in his prison diary. Tomorrow, everything would change.

"Tomorrow, I'll be free..." he thought to himself as he stood up from his chair. He looked back at the diary and wondered what became of the guard that gave it to him. They continued to see each other for a while after, but all of sudden, 5 years ago, the guard vanished without a trace. What was so peculiar about it was, to Sam's surprise, he was the only one to remember him. Ever since he disappeared, it was as if he had never existed at all.

He stroked the front of the now closed diary and noted that it was still warm. It was reassuring to Sam, and comforted him as if his first real friend, were still there with him.

He turned towards his bed and lay himself down on it. "Tomorrow is a big day", he told himself. "I can't wait to be free."

****************

Sam awoke the next morning at 7AM. The soft glisten of the morning sunshine shone rays of light into his cell. He felt warm and cosy and grabbed his blanket harder so as to ensure no-one would take it away from him. Although he was leaving the cell today, he could surely afford a few more minutes lying in.

Then, all of a sudden, a paper aeroplane landed in his ear which jolted Sam awake. I suppose that would be very effective in waking up a tough sleeper!

As the paper plane glided back down to the ground after shooting up in the air from Sam's ear, he managed to catch it mid flight and proceed to unravel it, revealing a letter.

*Congratulations on your freedom, boy. I'm sorry for not staying with you inside the prison, things outside are... different to what I suspect you've been expecting. But don't worry, I'll be waiting for you. What you'll face outside, I'll face with you.

Your friend,

The Guard"

"The Guard?" Sam thought to himself. "Oh... right, I suppose I never knew his name."

Something about this morning felt remiss to Sam. He knew he was up early, but everything seemed too quiet. Sam was certain that if a pin dropped at this exact moment, he would hear it.

He limply approached the bars to his cell and gracefully stuck his head through one of the gaps. As he looked around... silence. Left, right there was nothing. There WAS no one.

Sam, confused slipped his head back into his cell and decided he must be dreaming. As he slowly let go of the bars and proceeded to walk back to his bed he felt a sharp pain in his upper back. As he turned around, he found another paper aeroplane lying on the floor, presumably the cause of his sudden pain. Like before, Sam grabbed and unravelled it. It was another letter but the handwriting was more difficult on the eyes than the previous one, as if done in a rush.

"Open the door to your cell. Don't worry, it's unlocked boy.

Your friend,

The Guard."

Sam was concerned, but what choice did he have? The alternative to leaving his cell was staying in at and, as pleasant the view of the pale white walls was, he knew he wouldn't particularly miss the sight. Hence, he stumbled towards his cell door. It let out a loud CREAK as it opened, like the scream of a scary ghost.

What happened next, was quite possibly, the strangest experience Sam had encountered yet. He remembered stepping beyond the cell door and then... and then... nothing. Next thing he knew he was floating above a calm a luscious green field. A pleasant summer's breeze blew across the greenery carrying Sam along with it. He now had no control over his body, no control over where he was going. Sam was completely at the whim of the wind.

As he floated across tall hills and through thick woods he caught sight of something in the distance. He couldn't believe it... another paper aeroplane. With his stick arms, Sam tried desperately to swim himself closer to the paper plane.

"Just a little further," he said to himself. But the wind appeared to hear him and sped up his speed. A fire lit in Sam's chest and he felt... no, he just knew that he had to catch that paper plane at all costs! As his velocity quickly increased, the more power he put into his strokes. Beads of sweat slipped off his face as soon as they formed, such was the speed he was reaching. He was now in the final stretch, the paper plane was close and he would reach it within 5....

"Come on!"

4...

"I've got you."

3....

"Gareth, please..."

2...

"I'm sorry,"

1...

"I'm ready to see you now!"

At that moment, Sam, by the skin of his teeth managed to grab the letter. As soon as he did the wind stopped and he slowly descended to the ground. In front of him, a small cottage lay waiting, alongside a tranquil river that was turning a water wheel attached to the house.

A memory was triggered in Sam and he realised he knew of this place. He clutched the letter tightly and a pit formed in his stomach. He loathed to admit it, but there was an aura about this letter that the previous one's didn't have and it terrified him to the core. Reluctantly, he opened it up.

"Come inside. Friend."

There was no signature and the handwriting was messier than before. It was diagonal on the page and looked like a child had written it with misplaced capital letters everywhere. Sam's attention now turned to the cottage, and he dreaded what he was about to find.

****************

The walk to the cottage wasn't long, about 2 minutes from where he was stood. With each step he took, the mud thickened. It took on the form of a very thick and lumpy sauce. As he finally reached the steps to the cottage, he grabbed onto the railing and started rapidly kicking each leg one at a time to remove as much mud as he could. Sam couldn't stand the thought of touching it with his hands so this was the next best thing. Once satisfied with his cleanliness, he turned to face the door to the cottage. It was wooden and brittle. Clearly it had been there for a long time. Sam began to think it might be flimsier than him as one touch might send it crashing to the floor rather than opening it.

He turned the handle and checking the door was still fixed to it's hinge, stepped inside. The room that greeted him was cold and empty. But in the shadows, at the back corner, Sam spotted someone rocking back and forth in a creaky old chair.

"Look who it is." said the voice. "My old friend Scary Sam." The man chuckled in his chair.

"Gareth..." Sam gulped. He was straining more than ever to say something and a chill went down his spine.

"Do you know where you are? What you're doing here?" The man named Gareth asked. Sam looked around the almost deserted room. His beady black eyes seemed to narrow, taking in every detail of the room, from the cobwebs to the dust laid neatly on the floor. That's when he saw the outline of chalk. Once again, he gulped.

"I think so..." he said hesitantly. The man in the corner smiled and strained to get out of his comfy chair. He started to approach Sam. With each step he took the more the light beyond the door illuminated him. He was old and grey, with one blue eye and one white eye. He sported plenty of spots on his face as well as a pristinely combed moustache,

"The Guard..." Sam said softly as the old man appeared fully.

"Gareth Ud" he replied twiddling his moustache with a smile. "Now then, I think to the matter at hand. My death... at your lovely hands."

Sam shook.

"Please, I didn't..." but words failed him. His voice started to go hoarse as if he had been speaking for hours.

"Don't fret," said Gareth. "It's bad for your health don't you know."

Sam once again tried to say something but nothing came out. His mouth just hung there, slack as if his puppet master had absconded from his post and left the strings holding Sam's mouth up slack.

"If it's any consolation. It would seem I killed you too." He sounded so nonchalant about it. Gareth then fumbled in his right pocket and pulled out a paper aeroplane.

"Here," he said. "I folded it back up just for you."

Sam grabbed the paper plane and like before he opened it up carefully.

"Role: Prisoner.

Crime: Murder of one Gareth Ud.

Memory restoration: 20 years."

Sam looked up from the paper into Gareth's eyes. For the first time, Gareth completely read them. He took his hand into his other pocket and pulled out a letter.

"Didn't bother refolding this one." he said dryly. He turned the sheet of paper towards Sam who's eyes almost leapt out of their head.

"Role: The Guard.

Crime: Murder of one Sam West.

Memory restoration: 15 years."

"What..." Sam finally spoke. "What is this?"

"From what I can tell, we both killed each other that day. This is some sort of afterlife for people who die together I think. We spend time in a world where are residual consciousness are linked as new people. We spend time with each other again and heal." He sighed. "I think the 'Memory restoration' refers to how long we need to spend living our other life before we're ready for the world to come crashing down around us. For me, it was 15 years."

Sam stumbled and fell to the ground. His hands were shaking tremendously and dark red patches of blood started to leak from them. His hands looked like two tiny fountains.

"What do we do?" Sam asked meekly. His breathing was fast and rapid, he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"The only thing we can do: forgive." Gareth replied. "When my memories started to come back, I was angry... resentful even. I believed that I was in the afterlife on my own and that my mind was dragging a ghost of my killer into this world. But, after leaving my role and watching you, I realised that you weren't fake... you were real. Once I realised that, I realised we died together."

"How could you tell?" asked Sam. "That I was real..." Gareth merely pointed towards Sam's diary that had appeared besides him. Sam's breathing started to slow and he noticed that as his breathing relaxed, the less blood his hands produced. Sam then picked up the diary.

"Start from the 1st page." Gareth instructed.

Sam obeyed his instructions and turned to the first page. It merely said:

"I'm sorry."

That can't be right thought Sam. He spent every night writing in that diary for one hour. He must have practically written a whole novel at this point so how could it be that there was only two words in it! Not to say Sam was particularly prone to writing strong literature but this was ridiculous. He turned to the next page, and the next... they all said the same thing.

"That, was how I knew. Your subconscious had you writing in that diary what you deeply held in your mind. Plus, who asks for paper anymore?" He started to laugh heartily.

Sam tuned to the final page, the one he had written the night before his freedom. This page was different from the other's. Rather than two words, this was a full page. It read:

"Gareth, I know something is about to happen tomorrow. I know that you're gone and that I'm serving time for your murder but I just want to see you again. We were always like brothers growing up. I was there for you, and you for me. You saw past my awkwardness, my weirdness and the looks I can make on my face. You treat me like no-one else has done: a friend. I regret our falling out over something so stupid and if you're watching over me, know that when I leave prison tomorrow I will not be leaving you behind in the past. I will be holding you tight and carrying you with me into the future. Everyday I will be working hard to prove myself worthy of seeing you in the afterlife.

Please, someday, forgive me.

I'm sorry.

Sam West"

Sam looked intently at the page and noticed he had started to tear it out last night. Suddenly a memory flashed before his eyes of him and Gareth when they were young. Gareth was a few years older than him and got into the habit of calling him "boy" as a tease. Every so often, rather than using their tablets or phones to write, they would send messages via paper aeroplanes using scrap they had managed to find. It felt old fashioned sure, but they found it fascinating. It was like watching an e-mail being sent in real time.

Gareth looked down with pity upon Sam and, as Sam wept, he knelt down in front of him, placed his hand on top of Sam's shoulder and said.

"I forgive you, boy."

In what must have been the quickest movement of his life, Sam whipped his arms round Gareth and held him tightly in his arms. Gareth didn't need to hear anything from Sam, his actions spoke for themselves. His chest felt fuzzy and warm and he couldn't help but feel tears flowing down his face too. The two of them smiled in each others embrace.

Suddenly, the wall of the house shook and started to crumble until nothing was left but the two of them in an empty wide space. A grand golden gate appeared in-front of the pair. The reunited friends looked at the gate intently and felt at peace. Although they did not know for certain what lay beyond it, they knew what it's presence signalled for their journey:

The End.