“Expelliarmus!�

“Avada –“

“NO!�

The third voice screamed with such intensity that it cut the second off. Ron Weasley stood in an open clearing in fury, desperately attempting to solute his problem.

Voldemort stood in front of him, yet Harry stood behind him. One of them was to die, yet he didn’t want to be that one, and he didn’t want Harry to be either.

It had to be Voldemort.

Ron put his wand to his palm, his brain confounding in the midst of the situation.

He heard Voldemort utter something to a Death Eater as he broke off in a run to the cluster of trees where Harry stood.

“We need to get out of here.�

“No.�

His words were spoken in the utmost importance. They were not going to be reprimanded. And Ron knew it.

“I have to do this, Ron. It’s my duty to kill Voldemort.� Ron closed his eyes at the name, but did not utter a sound.

“I want you to leave, Ron.�

“No, Harry, I’m going to help –�

“I want you to go home and stay with your family. There’s nothing you can do to help me. Enough people have perished in this, and I don’t intend to have my best friend –�

Harry abruptly cut himself off and choked out a sob, remembering his own family and most of his friends. They were all gone, even his wife. All by the hand of Voldemort.

“I don’t want to lose you, too. Take a Portkey.� He waved his wand around a stray twig, then put it to the ground.

“Take it, Ron.�

Ron just stood there with a fixed stare upon Harry’s face.

“Why do I have to –�

“Ron, you know you can’t Apparate here and I’m telling you to leave. Please.� His eyes bore into Ron’s, and all Ron could do was listen. He didn’t want to stay, but he didn’t want to abandon Harry.

“But –“

“Ron!� He shook his head violently, looking at him again. “Please, I’m begging you.�

Silence followed for a few moments.

“Thank you,� Ron said softly. He made to grab it, but a black stream of luminosity hit the stick just as Ron wrapped his fingers around it.

He felt himself twirling away from the battlefield where he was and into the air. He closed his eyes, not feeling or seeing anything, with only the sound of Voldemort’s cruel laughter ringing in his ears. He didn’t want to know that he was a coward.

~ * ~

Ronald Weasley stepped into the dim hallway of the Department of Mysteries, wonder in his mind. What was he doing here? Harry wouldn’t have transported him here. He would have sent him back home.

But his thoughts came rushing back to him. The black jet of light, Voldemort’s malicious hilarity . . . It all made sense. Voldemort had changed his destination.

But he grabbed the handle.

He stepped inside the dimly lit room, hoping no one was close on his tail. He had no other friends with him; this mission was a matter of life or death. He had to complete it.
He turned around, grabbing the other side of the door’s handle and firmly pushing it shut. The door clicked in place. At once, the room started to spin. When it stopped, he tried the handle with no luck. It had locked itself in place. Fearing what he was about to do, he continued his mission down the intricately configured hallway, cautiously awaiting his next step.

Ron walked to the middle of the room, hoping to find some sense of security. This whole thing was strange – it was insane that he was even here. As he looked at the numerous doors in front of him, he felt that the one directly to his left spoke to him in some way. He had absolutely no scheme or plan on where he was going; he might as well stick with his gut instincts.

He turned the handle as he had before on this door, his intellect spinning with wonder. What would happen to him behind this door? He could chance another mishap with the bewitched brains like he had in his fifth year, but he knew that it would be the unfortunate end of him if he ran into them. No one else was in the Department of Mysteries, and there would be no one to come running and assist him like Harry and his other friends had.

As the door swung open, he felt as if he had entered a room full of Dementors. All of the happiness, hope, and belonging was sucked right out of his heart. He felt as if he had never experienced happiness, and would never again. He took three steps into the room, each a gliding clomp after the other. The floor sounded like marble underneath him, but he couldn’t be sure. The room was overwhelmed in absolute darkness, engulfing Ron into the mystery it beheld. He felt instantly that this was the room he did not want to be in.

He turned around quickly to catch the door, but when he heard the other ‘click’, he knew he was doomed to wreak the havoc the obscurity possessed.

He stood in the room vigilantly, only hearing the sound of his uneasy breath as the darkness started to suffocate him. He held his ground, gasping for air in the enclosed space and trying to reason at what he could do to get out. He didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t want to fight.

Suddenly, a creaking sound burst forth, and the quiet disappeared. Ron Weasley jerked his head to the noise so rapidly that he gained a strain in his neck. Even though he would usually grab his collar and stroke it comfortingly for the pain, he didn’t move. He only stared, wide-eyed and fearful, into the shadows, awaiting the fate of the sound in his ears to devour him.

And it just happened to be the other door.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, straining himself not to burst into laughter at his fear.

He walked through the door.

~ * ~

Ron sauntered into the other room slowly this time – cautiously. He was getting tired of this. Door after door after door? It was a bit ridiculous, but Ron trudged on through the space, praying silently that he was doing the right thing with each step.

As he poked his head into the other room, he realised that he was no longer on the floor. He was on the ceiling! He rooted his feet to the spot, being careful not to lose his balance. If he fell, then he would plummet at least thirty feet. It looked as if he were in some mock type of courtroom. He could even see the rows of benches, jurors’ bench, and judge’s table, complete with gavel and high chair underneath him. He felt that he would certainly die if he fell, yet he slid his foot in front of him, and then the other.

He didn’t descend.

The door was only a few feet in front of him, but as he reached out his hand to the handle, he felt himself slipping. He made a dive toward the exit, yet his fingernails scratched the wood and he dropped the long way down.

Ron let out a yelp of fear as he hit the ground, then a groan of pain. He looked above him through half-closed eyes. The ceiling was quite a few feet above his head. How in Merlin’s name was he going to be able to get up there?

He suddenly had the inclination to grab his wand. He jerked back at the thing that crawled on it when he picked it off the floor, cringing at the ugly beast upon it. A spider.

He extended his arm slowly, then hurriedly slipped the creature off, wiping the wand on his pants. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t help but cringe at spiders.

He pointed his wand into the air, and he felt himself gliding as he went slowly up. He hadn’t even muttered or thought of an incantation, but obviously the room had a mind of its own. He sailed up to the door, then opened it, revealing . . .

Another room.

~ * ~

He went into this room warily, biding himself entrance uninvited. He didn’t want to be hung upside down by his ankles across the ceiling again, nor hear odd sounds or see strange things. It was a scary place, the Department of Mysteries; every room was something different, and every turn was something even more sinister.

He walked into the room and noticed bizarre hangings on the walls. It wasn’t that they were strange; it was that they were just so out of place. It looked like his own childhood home. The signature Weasley clock stood beside a perfect replication of the kitchen, along with his Mum’s knitting freshly laid out on her comfy armchair in the den. He even thought he glimpsed his own Cleansweep broom beside the fireplace. He strolled over to the place to have a look, in awe at how he could be back home. But he knew he wasn’t. It was just a trick for him to do something dim-witted, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. He stopped dead and turned around. He was getting in too deep. All of a sudden, the lights went out, and darkness filled the room again. Ron hoped that this time there wasn’t a noise to scare him out of his wits.

He felt his way on the walls over to the door. When he felt the clock, he reached down for the knob – and felt nothing.




He caressed the walls over and over again for the next few minutes all around the room, even though he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face, yet no results came. He was in an enclosed area with no door to get out.

Ron’s breathing became irregular once again. He kicked at the walls, fighting to get out of the room. If he didn’t do something, or if there was no outside help, then he would surely die of the claustrophobia that filled the air.

And then, the walls started to move.

Maybe a door is growing, he thought. Odd things happened here already: why not a door awkwardly growing into place?

Subsequently, he felt the air grow thick. He could see the white-grey walls coming towards him.

He was going to be crushed to death. Smothered between his home’s walls like a sandwich, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He went into the middle of the room, giving him as much time as humanly possible to ease himself out of the situation. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but the more his brain spaced out and the more the clock ticked by, the closer the walls came to him.

He pulled out his wand and brandished it stealthily, silently wishing that a spell would come to mind. But the room, once again, had a mind of its own. A door appeared at the other end of the stretch of wall as soon as Ron thought he would surely meet his death. He sprinted to the other side at his full ability, throwing open the door and slamming it. He heard the walls crush together as soon as the door clicked shut.

As Ron turned to face the, yet again, other room, a faint shadow stood in the corner of his eye, toying with his mind. He faced the object slowly now, hoping that this room wasn’t as bad as the last, and shifted his gaze upwards.

A red, comfy armchair sat in view, robbing Ron of anything else he had wanted to do. All he wanted to do now was take a seat. He walked over to it rather quickly, anxious to ease his aching feet, and settled into it snugly. The chair sunk in as Ron’s body took shape around it. Ron’s feet immediately subsided with a tingling sensation; he rested them on the footrest below him, then put his arms behind his head.

You’re not cut out for this. You know that you just want to go back home.

Ron looked up immediately. Who had just said that?

“Who’s there?� he asked shakily and at a soft whisper.

No answer came.

Maybe it’s right. I don’t need to be doing this. I shouldn’t be here, he thought.

That’s right. Listen to me. You’re not worth this assignment. You’re not powerful enough to handle it.

It’s right . . .

Ron’s words became slurred as he sunk farther and farther down into the chair. All of his intellect of importance had left him . . . He wanted nothing more than to just sit here forever, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to get out of here. He’d just turn back around and walk out the way he came. The voice was right; he wasn’t cut out for this. He may as well just go on back home.

No.

The voice rang through Ron’s head like a light in the darkness.

Why not? It’s not as if I want to continue on. There could be something even worse than spiders coming along.

And then Ron realised: “I’ll have to face the spiders if I go back.

That was enough to send a thin quiver of chills up his spine. Ron absolutely hated spiders; he loathed them. There was nothing special about the eight legs and beady eyes, and he didn’t even know why they existed. His Mum, at one point in his fourth year, had told him that they helped with her gardens, but he couldn’t believe that. How could something so horrid actually assist someone with something?

With a sudden revelation, Ron leapt out of the chair. That wasn’t the only reason he wasn’t leaving now. He had a mission. Just, to get out, with assistance. Because he needed to. He had accepted it, and now he was going to follow through with that. He wasn’t going to let anyone stop him; especially some pronounced voice.

He walked over to the door in front of him and threw it open, revealing yet another room.

~ * ~

He opened the door slowly this time, looking into the depth of the shadows that surrounded him. There were only two small torches, the flames flittering from the gust of wind Ron had just let in. A sunken, stone crater was dug directly in the center of the room. Ron cautiously walked over to the ledge to have a look inside. It looked as if it was about twenty feet deep, yet Ron dropped a rock within it to hear the clatter at the stone bottom. He just needed to hear a sound beside his own thoughts. On the right side of the room, there was a stone column of steps ascending up to a granite platform. An archway was constructed against the wall, and a thin, tattered curtain swayed back and forth as if it had been touched by something unknown. Ron stared at it unbelievingly. That had to be the curtain that . . .

Sirius had fallen through.

He was relieved that Harry wasn’t there, or he would have immediately become depressed. Sirius was like another father figure to him; since he had died, Harry appeared as if he had lost a part of his own soul.

Ron slowly clomped up the steps, only hearing the sign of his brisk breathing and feet clattering against the flooring. When he reached the top, he leaned towards the veil, afraid that if he got any closer he would be pushed through by some mysterious force. He heard whispering –whispering that got louder as he leaned in closer. The voices sounded miserable, yet they sounded excited as well. The chattering was going on incessantly; something electrifying was occurring.

Ron suddenly got a chill up his spine that caused a tingling sensation to pass throughout him. It was quite cold in the room, and Ron shivered in his old t-shirt and jeans as he passed through.

“The door is behind the curtain. Go behind the curtain . . .� a soft voice whispered. It appeared to be that of a woman, but Ron couldn’t be sure.

Ron nodded believingly, but he knew that that was untrue. It couldn’t be behind the curtain; Sirius had perished through there, and he wasn’t about to do the same.

He suddenly glimpsed at a fraction of a door at the bottom of the steps. It hadn’t just been there, had it?

“Yes . . .� the voices hissed, “There. Go there . . .�

Ron gave them one last fleeting look and descended the steps and throwing open the door.

~ * ~

Ron stepped into the next room and suddenly fell into freezing cold water: a lake. Ron coughed and sputtered violently to shake the chill from him as he climbed out sullenly. He soon discovered that there was no ‘out’. He shook the water from his eyes and hair and swam to the center.

He hoped that there weren’t any merpeople, giant squids, or any other seafaring creature in the icy coolness. He wrapped his wet arms around himself in the neck-deep water trying to keep warm, yet he was failing. His teeth chattered grimly and he felt miserable. As he walked, he sensed his shoes slipping from his toes, and he soon felt mud and various plants and shells squelching through his toes as he walked through the foggy landscape.

It was just like a real lake. He heard crickets chirping, insects buzzing, and fish splashing. As he looked above him, he noticed that the night sky was sprinkled with stars that dotted the horizon brightly. As he continued to look around, he noticed a small, iron door covered in ivy across the way. A tiny, gold key shone its brightness on a small ring beside the knob. He swam quickly over to get it, but he stopped suddenly. He grabbed his foot in pain and looked down with an aggrieved expression. When he reached down with a free arm to grab what he had treaded on, he pulled from the depths another key, this time silver, from the sand.

It couldn’t be that easy.

But why would this door be locked versus the others? Was there some special force blocking the way from leaving this certain room for some reason?

He waded over to the door and jerked the handle, yet no creaking noise came forth. The door was locked.

He didn’t want to make a sudden move and grab the key above him. He had seen odd things happen in these rooms, and he didn’t want to be killed by some brainless decision that he hadn’t thought through all the way. He glimpsed around the rest of the room for another sign of exit. Nothing was found, yet he did find another small key hanging above his head in the sky.

How had it even gotten there?

Of course, some other magical force held it there. He pulled his wand out of his back pocket and yelled, “Accio!�.

The key stayed in place.

He pondered for another moment. He could just use the key he held in his hand or the one above the door, yet it seemed too easy. However, he was in a hurry, and he wasn’t willing to play some petty game in getting the other key down. He grasped the other key tightly in his hand and moved towards the lock.

Don’t do it.

The voice again. Ron ceased his hand and let his arm fall to his side. Thoughts erupted through his brain: How was he going to do this alone? If spells didn’t work, then how was he going to get the key?

He emitted a few other spells, causing rays of green, yellow, red, and blue to fly throughout the room. The key was reflecting the light and soaring right back to him. He’d already had to dodge them quite a few times. It was as if some invisible force was guarding the key.

He once again stood in the lake, trying to find a viable solution to his problem and considering what he could possibly do.

He suddenly had an unexpected reflection. Could he possibly just leap up and grab it? He had been able to soar up to the next door in one of the other rooms; why not now?

He focused only on what he wanted to do: Get the key. He stood there for a full five minutes with his eyes closed, only wanting and desiring that one thing.

He soon felt himself being lifted into the air. A cool breeze whipped at his hair, and he felt free. He soon held a bronze key in his outstretched hand, a smile on his tired face.

As he floated back down to the lake, he stared at the door, knowing that he was only wanting to get out of the room and on to the next. He now realised that the only things through the doors was going to be more rooms to a certain point, but he wanted to get it over with.

He touched back down to the ground in the lake, becoming drenched once again with murky, green-brown water up to his chin. He swam over to the door again, sliding the key into the lock and opening it.

He stepped through the next door, wringing out his clothes with his fists and shaking.

But as he stepped through the threshold into yet another mystifying area, a sudden crashing noise met his ears and he ducked to avoid a collision with a monster. Bits of rock and granite rained down on him.

And then, as he looked up cautiously to avoid another blow, he realised that a Jack Russell terrier stood in front of him.

He stared at the dog watchfully with his head turned and an odd expression on his face. Had the dog just made all that commotion?

The small dog yipped excitedly and jumped up and down, wishing for Ron to come near and pat it. Ron felt that it was the only joyful thing he had seen for a while, so he travelled over to see it. As soon as he reached its hand out, the dog snapped at him and bit one of his fingers, sending a trickle of blood down Ron’s hand.

“Bloody hell!� Ron said rather loudly, causing the dog to jump back. He growled menacingly at the man, and Ron took a step back as well. He sucked on his throbbing finger and glared at the creature.

He suddenly grasped something. He had seen this dog before . . . But where?

His Patronus.

He gazed at it closer, realising that it wasn’t actually his Patronus, but a real dog. It looked menacing; with its teeth bared and proud, its paw shifting on the ground, and ears pulled back, it looked downright scary.

He almost called out, “Expecto Patronum!� but he realised that he was fighting his actual Patronus, and not a Dementor.

He closed his mouth and stared at the evil puppy, taking another step back in case it was to get off the thin, black chain that held it in place around its neck. It was positioned right in front of his way out, kept there by the chain, of course, and was blocking his egress.

It bit and snapped into the air repeatedly, a dreadful snarl escaping its lips as it tried to get at Ron, but it kept getting forced back into its place by the chain. When it would get choked, it would sputter for a moment and hack, then turn in a circle, finally repeating the process over again.

Ron nearly sent forth a flock of canaries at the dog as Hermione had in their sixth year as he dated Lavender, but remembered that he wasn’t so heartless.

A spell suddenly popped into his head.

“CONFUNDUS!� he yelled vociferously, sending the dog lying on its back. Its tongue lolled out, and it yipped excitedly and satisfactorily, getting up and rolling back on its haunches. It was now confused as to why it was there.

Ron smiled gleefully to himself, feeling first-rate that he had just successfully used the spell, then walked over to the door, slinking along the wall in case the dog did come to, and flung open the door.

Ron suddenly felt a prickling feeling surge throughout his body. He looked down at his feet and realised he was buoyant in the air. His eyes opened wide, yet his body below him did not move. He tried to float back down, yet it heeded no results. An invisible force blocked his body; it was as if there was a spell blocking him from returning.

This is just great, Ron thought silently, trying to figure out how he was going to finish his mission if he couldn’t even move. His stiff carcass still stood below him as he drifted even farther away towards the ceiling. He usually had an optimistic outlook on life in general, but this was just ridiculous. He was once again wishing that he hadn’t been shipped here.

Suddenly, he remembered a solution to an out of body experience. One day he had listened in Charms to Flitwick in his sixth year, and he knew that they had been taught a spell to free him. It had had some pretty odd effects: Flitwick had described a series of additional absent of body occurrences before actually returning, a prolonged sense of blindness, and even not ever being able to return. The particular enchantment wasn’t the best to use.

He rolled his eyes. He abruptly recalled that he didn’t know the name of the charm to wield the results he wanted to obtain. Even though it had some risks, there was no other way to return to where he needed to be. He looked up to force his brain to work, realising that there were different inscriptions on the walls. He went over to them quickly; he knew the longer he stayed out of his body, the more difficult it would be to restore himself to full potential.

Upon smacking into the wall in anticipation, he took a floating pace backwards, then focused his eyes onto the brown, decrepit walls.

It was all written in a different language.

Even greater, he thought again, trying to find a solution to yet another problem. He scanned the entire four walls, yet all of it seemed to be the same. He examined the wall again, knowing that he was going to find nothing that he didn’t see the first time, but upon a closer, scrutinizing look, he noticed something different. In only one sentence on the left hand side of the wall, every other letter seemed to be written normally, and in English.

Ron put his hand on his wall to steady himself, yet it went right through. He waved his hand from the impact of nothing, then pulled it back.

Odd Symbol, A, Odd Symbol, B, Odd Symbol, D, Odd Symbol, U, Odd Symbol, C, Odd Symbol, O.

Ron suddenly remembered the spell.

�ABDUCO!� he cried, then felt another tingling feeling erupt through him, this time even worse, making him laugh as it tickled him to his bones.

He returned to his body, rubbing his chest to make sure it was truly correct and he wasn’t still in a dream-like state in the air, and realised that he was back.

He ran through the door and out of the room before it changed its mind and sent him whirling back into the air.

~ * ~

As he stepped into another room, he noticed a familiar aura surround him, calming him of his fears of the Department of Mysteries. He felt as if he were home again; not home as in getting a glimpse of a replica in one of the other rooms, but an actual feeling of love and family. The space in front of him stood dark. Its iridescent and sparkling walls reminded him of the stars, and he wished that he were back home with Hermione.

But he couldn’t do that.

With a wounded and saddened presence, he recalled what had happened only a year ago . . .

Hermione and he had finally married, but of course, cherished and wonderful things were always burned down. His home and his wife had perished in the accident, along with his own self. He missed Hermione dearly, however, he knew that she could never come back to him as he wished.

Yet the room possessed a feeling as his own home had; it exhibited the same smells and feels the house once had. His heart had even jumped as he had entered, yet he hadn’t known why. Now, he did.

A lone mirror sat in the very center of the room, cracked as a sign of its usage. Ron felt a sudden leap of his heart once again as he tiptoed over to it silently, his fingers fuddling together to escape the sentimental value he knew the mirror beheld. He felt it symbolised himself somewhat – fractured and tattered.

He felt along the edges of the chipped wood and sighed. The pitiable item had probably been put into the room just because it had nowhere else to go. In the garbage would have been an great place, but maybe someone treasured it so much that they just couldn’t bring themselves to toss it out.

He steadied himself on the small stool that was quite wobbly and ragged itself and looked into the mirror.

His hair lay in wet, red wisps across his forehead, and water dripped down the side of his face, still, from the lake he had previously been in, yet his clothes had started to dry. He wiped at the droplets with a free sleeve, just smearing it across his cheek because the sleeve was still damp as well. The expression on his face was solemn; it was saddened, yet hope still ran through his skin. He knew he’d make it through, even though it was hard to get through each day without her. Extremely hard.

Unexpectedly, a figure stood beside him, beckoning him over. Her thick, wild hair lay unkempt at her shoulders. She was dressed in her work attire, what she had perished in, her wand at her side. Her expression seemed distressed, but also disappointed.

Hermione.

Ron awed at her presence; everything in the room appeared to grow lighter. The dark walls seemed to brighten, the stars on them growing lighter in presence, and the blackness dissolved into the air. It was as if he were in a dream. His mouth opened and he felt faint, yet he stayed strong.

“Wh-What?� he eventually stammered out. Her company amazed him; they hadn’t seen each other in over a year.

“Hello, Ron.�

He closed his eyes to keep in the sound of her voice. It was so beautiful, as was she. He hadn’t heard it in such a long time. She was such a nice sight to see after a year of torment and hunger. He opened them again just to see her.

“Hermione . . . It’s –-� He looked as if he had lost his voice.

She chuckled softly, revealing her smile. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“— So good to see you. How . . .�

“You’ve finally come to see me,� she interrupted, cutting him off of his heartfelt words. He had missed her so much. He couldn’t believe that he would find her in a place like this. And he hadn’t even wished to come here.

“I love you,� he said softly, still looking in the mirror, afraid to turn around as if she would vanish before he could put his eyes on her figure.

She laughed gently, showing that smile again. Ron beamed into her happiness.

“I love you, too. I’ve missed you.�

Silence followed for a few moments. Ron felt this very odd, because he and Hermione always had things to say to one another. The whole situation was fading from him, and he was now feeling a bit uneasy and uncomfortable to talk to her. He knew that he had to get going.

“Hermione, I . . . I came here for a reason. I – I have to leave you.�

“Don’t you want to stay with me?� she whimpered, sticking her face out in a pout. “Don’t you love me?�

“Hermione . . .� He couldn’t even believe she had even asked him that. “Of course I do, I –� He paused. “I just don’t believe this. You can’t really be here.�

“The mirror possesses powers even I don’t know about. That’s why I’m here.�

“Even you don’t know about? I thought you knew everything.� He turned around to pull his wife to him, showing her that he was just teasing, but as he swivelled around in the chair, it finally decided to meet its end, and he fell to the ground with a splintering sound of wood. He landed hard on the ground with a grunt. He sat on the ground for a moment after the impact; he had settled right on his tailbone.

He cursed silently to himself. As he looked up to smile at Hermione, embarrassed, he realised that she looked angry.

“You’d really leave me just to pursue this little . . . mission you’ve come up with? You want to disappear from me, really?� She held the tears in her eyes in their place. The image in front of Ron made him want to just hold her, promising that he would never leave her or let her go.

But he knew, deep in his heart, that he couldn’t. He had to continue on.

He looked up at her fiery presence, her hair now billowing in angry strands around her face.

“I have to go,� he told her. He grabbed a hold of her hand, gave her a miserable glance, then turned around to walk out the next exit, stepping through without a fleeting look behind him.

Ron stepped through the next door with a sense of happiness inside his chest. Wind billowed around his hair, making the clumps where sweat had trickled down feel nice and cool. He wiped his hair out of his eyes and looked around.

It wasn’t an ordinary room, however, none of the others were either. But this one was odd.

Sunshine swelled around him, making his breathing become more even and his calmness to sustain. He felt free. He knew this was the exit. He knew that this was the way out.

He looked above him and puffs of clouds soared over him, moving around the sky as if they were just nothing.

He took in a deep lungful of air, knowing what was coming.

He would get through the rest of his life. He would get through the forthcoming things, no matter what aid or help anyone offered. He was going home.

He took his first step out onto the freshly mowed grass and smiled.

He wasn’t a coward anymore.