Dark dreams

Someone is going to die tonight and it might be me.

My legs were numb,my knee burning with pain, but I didn’t stop running. The wind was hot and heavy, sticking to my skin as if it wanted to hold me back. Branches whipped at my arms and face, tearing through my clothes. I felt the sting and saw thin lines of blood, but none of it mattered now.

Every step felt like it was pulling me deeper into something I couldn’t turn away from. I tried to steady my breath, but it came out ragged, too loud in the dark and it frigtened me.

Somewhere behind me, I heard footsteps—his footsteps—but I couldn’t wait for him.

There was no time.

I had to act alone.

Maybe I should have left this to the police. Or anyone else.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t. This wasn’t something I could just walk away from. Not after everything.

This ends tonight.

The chapel stood at the top of the hill like a shadow against the sky, black stone slick with rain. The bell tower loomed over everything, silent and heavy, and for a second I thought of all the things that had happened inside those walls. Things no one talks about.

My chest was burning by the time I climbed the steps. The door was cold under my palms when I shoved it open, the hinges screaming like it hated me.

Inside, the air was warm and close. The candles flickered against the walls, throwing long, twisted shadows that moved like they were alive. My pulse roared in my ears.

The gun was waiting for me, glinting in the candlelight like it already knew what was about to happen. For a second, I just stared at it—at my own face shining back at me from the barrel, pale and slick with sweat.

And then a thought hit me, sharp and cold, curling deep inside my chest: Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s always been true.

The words slid through me like a knife, old and heavy

“Last shall drink the iron glass.”