Everyone deserves a proper burial. I didn’t even know the guy. We just escaped together. That was all. We didn’t exchange names, we didn’t get to know each other. People died all the time out there. Back to the mud. It really hurt when you got to know someone and they’re stabbed the next day. Best not to know them at all.

I dragged the poor bastard’s body to a soft spot in the woods and worked the mud. Everyone deserves a proper burial, even if you don’t know them. I took out my trowel and made slow work through the moss, then the soil. The ground was cold, and my hands colder, but I kept working. I needed to get out of here as soon as possible. The soldiers would be back soon.

We escaped the camp together. We were lucky, I suppose, to escape with our lives. Many others didn’t. We trekked through the woods for days. The roads were too well patrolled. But this meant we didn’t know where we were going. The guy asked me our heading, and I said the capital. I wanted vengeance. It consumed my thoughts, made the hair on my neck stand up, every time I pictured the king’s neck clenched in my grip. I wanted to strangle him like a fish on a dock; his eyes bulging, his mouth opening and closing, gasping for breath, but no sound coming out.

There was a rustle in the trees.

I dropped down into the shadows of the shrubs. I held the muddy trowel between my knuckles, ready to fight till my last breath. That’s how you survive in this forest. You gotta be ready to kill before you’re spotted.

An old man stepped into view. He had white hair, a white beard, white robes, and sandals. The only thing not white about him was the cross around his neck, and that was as white as it could get. That meant he was a slaver. But he sure didn’t look like it. Sandals in the forest? Clothes like some biblical hero – or villain if you ask me. It didn’t matter. This preacher was about to meet his god.

I sprung from the shrubs like a snake. I wanted to dig my trowel right into his chest, or maybe his belly, just to make him suffer. But as I cleared the leaves, he wasn’t there anymore. I stumbled and caught myself before I fell. He was just standing right here. I spun my head around and found him now behind me. How did he move so fast? I charged at him again. When I thought the trowel was gonna sink right into his ribs, I fell through him like he wasn’t there.

This time I did fall on the ground. He could have struck me. I was vulnerable. But he didn’t. He just stood there looking down at me. He smiled. The bastard.

“You look a little lost, Lucius.”

How’d he know my name? “Who are you?”

He turned and sat on a log. I took the opportunity to jump to my feet and hold the trowel, ready to defend myself. He kept smiling. “My name is Azrael. I’m not here to hurt you, so you can put down your trowel.”

I didn’t put down my trowel. He must have been trying to trick me. I kept my eyes glued to his hands, in case he were to pull out a weapon from under those robes.

“How do you know my name?” I said to him. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you. I can guide you to where you need to be.”

That old man must have really thought he could help me. If anything, he’d just slow me down. I needed to hurry. The soldiers would be back soon. “If you want to help, then help me dig.” I waited a second for him to get up and help. He didn’t. I bent over and continued shovelling. My eyes never left him though.

“Who’s the poor soul?” the old man asked, pointing at the dead body.

“Be damned if I know.” I shrugged and spat some dirt out of my mouth. “We escaped the slave camp together. The soldiers found us. I got away, and he didn’t.”

The old man nodded. He pretended to understand what I’d gone through. But he didn’t understand. The slavers took everything from me. I had a home, I had a family. But that Lucius was dead now. Now I was just a slave. An escaped slave, at least. I could still fight. And I would keep fighting until everyone was dead. That’s all I lived for now. Vengeance.

It was then that I heard the roar of a stallion in the distance. They were close.

“Hide!” I whispered at the top of my lungs. I sprung back into the shrubs. I didn’t see the old man move, but when I looked back, he wasn’t there anymore. For a man wearing white, he could sure blend in.

The soldiers came on their horses. Three of them. They got off and looked down at the body. They said something in their harsh, tuneless language. They might as well have found a dead deer. No, worse than a deer. At least they would have taken a deer home to eat. They just kicked the body and laughed. Bastards.

I could fight them. There were three of them, but I had something they didn’t. Vengeance. That’s what got me out of the camp. That’s why I was still alive. That’s why they were gonna die.

I gripped the trowel in my frozen palm. My knuckles cracked from how hard I clenched it. I was about to strike, but a hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned swiftly around. It was the old man.

“Get off me!” I whispered as loud as I dared.

“They haven’t noticed you,” the old man said. “Soon they’ll be gone.”

“They killed him. They deserve to die.”

“But you don’t. Peace, I beg you. Let them be gone. You’re not done with the burial. Once you’re done here, then you can get your vengeance.”

Everyone deserves a proper burial. I peered up at the soldiers once more. They hung around for a moment, flapping their lips before mounting and riding off. Not once did they notice the hole beside the body. But I didn’t wonder why. Maybe they thought I gave up and moved on.

When I could no longer hear the hooves of their mounts, I crept out of the shrubs. The old man followed and reclaimed his spot on the log. I kept digging the grave, now faster than before. If the soldiers saw the hole, then they knew I wasn’t far away. I needed to finish quickly and carry on.

“Why are you digging him a grave?” the old man said. “You’re putting yourself in an awful lot of danger for someone who will not be returning the favour.”

“Everyone deserves a proper burial. Even slaves. Born from the mud, back to the mud.”

“I’ve been to many funerals. This isn’t quite so fancy as some others, but it’s definitely the most touching.”

I didn’t look up. I just kept digging. Faster and faster. My hands were ice. “You said you’re gonna get me where I need to go?” The old man nodded. I spat the dirt from my mouth. “Then take me to the capital. I’m gonna kill the king.”

The old man took his sweet time before responding. “Why are you so angry, Lucius? You just escaped slavery. You should be celebrating!”

“No. The king killed my family. My parents, my wife, and my kids. I’m never gonna see them again… He needs to pay for that.”

“And he will pay. God has a plan for him, as he does all others. And you need to make peace with that.”

“God’s done nothing for me. All I live for now is vengeance. I’m not letting him take that as well.” I looked back down to the grave. Two feet deep. A shallow grave. Maybe not a proper burial, but a burial, nonetheless. “As soon as I bury this guy, I want you to take me to the capital.”

“Lucius, I am not here to take you to the capital.”

I looked up at the old man. He had finally lost his smile. I threw my trowel into the mud with anger and stepped up to him. “You said you’d bring me there!”

“I shall bring you to where you need to be, if you’re willing.”

“Well, where’s that?”

The old man didn’t respond. He simply leaned back and his eyes wandered to the grave I’d dug. I followed his eyes and looked behind. The hole was gone, the ground undisturbed.

I turned back to the old man. There was nothing in me but fury. “Did you do that!”

“I could not have done it, for you never did it in the first place.” He stood and stepped closer until our faces were almost touching. His breath was smooth and slow. Mine was sharp and rasping. “Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

I scoffed and turned away. What a ridiculous question. “I remember digging a hole and you filling it back up!”

“Further back. You escaped the camp and were hunted by the soldiers. What then?”

“Then I fought them.”

“And then you ran away?”

I looked back in my memory. “No! Listen to me! I fought them and then…” What happened after that? “Then I fell on the ground. I couldn’t get up…” I remembered the soldiers attacking me. I threw my trowel at one but more kept coming. There was a sharp pain. I fell on the ground. I didn’t have the strength to get back up…

“It’s a noble thing, what you’re trying to do. To bury a man you don’t even know. Everyone deserves a proper burial, after all.” The old man looked down at the body. His eyes were warm, yet cold as the grave. “But when you escaped the camp, you escaped alone.”

“No. He was with me. I remember…”

“Do you?”

I slowly looked at the body on the ground. Unmoving, cold, lifeless. I recognised it, as one would a long-forgotten acquaintance. I looked back at the old man, but he said nothing. I didn’t understand. I knelt down beside the body and rolled it over to see its face.

It was my face, and it was my body. Back to the mud…

I dipped the antique teacup in soapy water and scrubbed it with a sponge. Grandma sure loved collecting these old dishes. I didn’t care for them much, but someone else must have. This teacup alone could sell for fifty bucks. And I had the full set.

I would have cleaned these dishes a long time ago, if not for Katie. I hadn’t seen her for years. But as soon as Grandma died, then Katie appeared. She claimed the whole estate was hers.

You must be careful with old porcelain; it can shatter with even the slightest change of temperature. I rinsed the teacup in warm water and moved on to the teapot. The full set was worth at least four thousand all together. And the teapot was the centerpiece. Without it, the whole set was worthless. So I scrubbed it very gently.

Sure, Katie was a full relative, and I was only her stepbrother. But she left years ago and I stayed. I stayed by Grandma’s side until the end. But then Katie showed up with dollar signs in her eyes.

There was a stain on the teapot. I scrubbed it gently. I bet Katie would have just broken it. The stain stayed. I scrubbed harder.

I couldn’t believe the estate was now hers. She took the whole inheritance from me. All I got were some old dishes!

The stain was now gone. But still I scrubbed harder.

I stayed by grandma’s side. I deserved the inheritance. Not Katie!

The teapot shattered in my hands.

The brisk wind carrying the sweet scents of the midnight hour is a comforting smell to me. The scent of blooming flowers and distant creeks are masked by the heavenly aura of the peach farms just before the departing horizon, under the pale grey gleam of the full moon. My aching legs carry my body over the steep hill and waving grass, carrying me closer to nowhere. The enveloping feeling of a freezing midnight swim flows with the wind through my trousers and shirt, making my arms curl closer, offering whatever heat they can. If not for my own life, my only concern would be the regret of leaving, and the pain of returning.

As I climb over the grassy hill, over the wind’s waves in the foliage below my feet, my decision comes closer. Will I return home to where hatred and expectation looms over every action? Or will I continue on, and perhaps not draw breath by the heat of the morning sun? The crest of this hill will prove to me if I am strong enough to continue living, or continue dying.

My grandfather forced his story on my father, and my father to me. I have heard countless tales of centuries of peach farmers living in the warm valley where the peaches grow and contentment is the only happiness. From before I even came to be, my life was already decided, and deviation was met by stoic retribution. The same as centuries of fathers before me, I was to slave away harvesting peaches from the trees. I was to learn the methods of farming developed before memory can recall. Even though new ideas and ingenuity have come and passed, the close-minded stoicism of the valley people keep their inefficient ways intact and unchanged.

I accepted my role in the world as many others did. I suppressed my individuality as my father taught me his laborious routines used to feed his family and keep them too busy for unique thought. Just as he decided when the peaches were ripe for harvest, it was him who gave permission for us to rest after a long day’s work. He was respected, as he could decide who could go hungry, and who was rewarded. Who got pleasure, and who had to work. If I could speak, or if I was silenced. Contentment was the only happiness in the valley, and I thought of nothing but change.

It was just hours ago that he made it plain to me what I was to him. It was just hours ago that the tyrant drove me to achieve what was my only thought for years. It was just hours ago that my suppressed abhorrence was released to the source of my agony. He drove me toward his desires so hard, that he convinced me to do just the opposite. It was just then that everything made complete sense and I was perplexed beyond imagination.

I am leaving the valley. There is nothing left for me here anymore. Over the hill of flowing grass and chill wind, I make my way towards the end of my endless path. The piercing cold of the autumn wind penetrates my body and twists my movements. The stories, not just of peach farmers, but of the unknown jeopardy that lies beyond the mellow valley creeps into my mind. The unknown danger pushes others away just as it draws me in. Many ignorant men have climbed this slope before me and have not lived to climb back down. I know those stories well. They grab at my ankles and tug me back in desperation, yet I hobble on. It seems that the numbing gale aims my body home by pushing me back, but I slog against it. The raging wildfire growing from my heart and into my limbs is fueled by the frost and heats up with every draining footstep. My immense anger is so blinding that the pain pushing me back down the hill is only fueling my drive to continue. I may never see the crest of this hill. I may never see the glorious freedom behind it. But seeing the cause of my torture just one more time will kill me just the same.

One step after another, each an accomplishment toward my goal, each another push away from him. The deep green meadow before my face is gradually replaced by a view of the full moon, never having embraced me so lovingly before. The turf below my boots flattens out as a view of the world beyond the valley opens up before me. An endless world pressed under the grey gleam of the moon.

Mockingly, I turn my head and accept one last sight of the valley before the last bond to my past is finally broken. Acres of towering peach trees and swiveling creeks are impeded by one small spot where several buildings of an ancient village stand. Closer to me, however, just a short distance down the slope, is a dark shadow of who I was. My body, motionless in the swaying grass, laying dead on the hill. The gleam of the moon behind me reveals a shine to my eye. My body, holding in my hand, a knife reflecting a red glint. From behind me comes a voice, deep and strong, that I know all too well.

“Would you like a peach?”