There's a line.
There's a road.
There's a hall.
There's a room.

There's also THE line.
THe hall.
THE room.

There are lines you don't cross and lines you've already crossed that you can't return from.

There's the halls that had feet and brilliant and broken minds travel through. Every step with a mission. Missions with purposes no one's really had before.

Then there are the rooms. So many rooms. The white ones. The dark ones. The one with a broken lightbulb. The one with blood stains. The one of glass, screens and screams. The ones you thought were safe, those rooms you've learned never will be.

There's the faces.
The hands.
And all their thoughts and beliefs.
Strung around your soul for you to flip through and sort out.

Faces of strong individuals that you were convinced would last longer than yours. They are faces not facing you anymore. No more eyes to dance around in or ask all your worldly questions too.

The hands. Beaten and scarred hands. Large and almost unbreakable. Fists with an intent to protect but to also kill. The fingers sliding into yours but also over steel triggers. Triggers they never hesitated to push on. But they were still fingers that were sure to hold you and never questioned it.

And their thoughts...the things you believed you'd never come to terms with. But they somehow shaped you to be who you are today which is better than the whoever you were yesterday. Their beliefs that hammered your skull with impossible outcomes that became true. Well how could you argue what has come to pass. Words that were turned in to actions. Promises that we're kept and goals that were met. How do you argue any of it.
How do you argue any of it.
How do you argue. Any of it.

Any of it.

Book: Phantoms of Guilt
Series: Acclivity
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