𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖙 𝕭𝖎𝖙𝖘

1

The time, the deepest of night.

The place, an old abandoned train yard upon a mountain.

The overall tone, the atmosphere was thin.

Fog hid the pillers about the old, rusted train cars. Some that if touched could deteriorate into a pile if dust. The only colour really came from the graffiti littered around the premise and the figure sitting on the top of a stable train car.

Their style was mixed with the most notable dark green trench coat and classic red 1920s flapper hat. They sat with their legs crossed and their hands tucked infront of their chest. Between their fingers, they fiddled with a coin, their finger tips grey.

They hopped down off the train car as the trio approached. The friends who stuck together, no matter what; Amara, Fisch, and Petra.

They moved their trench coat to the side to reveal a stopwatch, the time stuck at 2:47. They looked up at the three, wanting a prompt for conversation.

"You aren't going to hurt anyone else!" Fisch yelled over to them.

"That wasn't my intention," they sneered.

"You knew people were getting hurt, but you kept going," Petra cried, "you are killing those around you, they did nothing wrong!"

"You speak as if you know me, you don't," they looked towards the last of the group, Amara, "my actions are just."

They stared down Amara, their gaze never wavering. Hope stood in their eyes, clear. Hope for an understanding of what they must do. Amara sighed, breaking eye contact with them.

"What's your name?" She asked them.

"Call me James."

"James, we don't know you, but what you are doing is wrong."

"What you," they burst out, "are doing is forcing your morals on to someone else. No one's morals are right, they are a matter of opinion. You cannot force your opinion on someone, to force them to think as you do!"

"Then you know what we must do James." The trio got ready to fight.

"It is not what you must, but what you think you should do," they held their arms out to the side, their face wet with tears if rage and sadness. James brought together their hands, pushed together in fists, as the world started to fold in on itself.

The sparce light from the sun peaking through the clouds going even dimmer than before. The clothing on the trio going almost mute and some of the train cars falling and deteriorating. The air got much more thin, everyone taking more shallow breathes, the wind, although slower, became much colder.

The only untouched thing was the clothing James wore as the grey from their finger tips expanded up their hands ever so slightly.

"What is just, what is best for me is to keep going. To keep up what I am doing. I don't know why it is best, but it is," they cried, "you will not deter me from my path."