People die.

It's a part of life.

We know it's inevitable.

But that doesn't make it fair.

Knowing the truth…

It is not the same...

As accepting it.

So, this is me not accepting it – this silent rebellion is my stand on his unjustifiable death.

Five hundred.

Four hundred.

Three hundred.

Two hundred.

One hundred.

I wonder how many calories I'll consume this meal.

~O~

At the beginning of last period, Mr. Lsak – Art teacher extraordinaire – informs us that a project is on the horizon.

And to prepare us for said project, he wants us to take the period to paint our very own Hell.

So, for the first few minutes of class, I just sit back in my chair and observe my fellow classmates.

As anyone would imagine, all the paintings in my vision look the same.

There's fire and lava and darkness and demons.

Everything that we, as simple-minded humans, imagine hell to look like.

But then I look to my side, to where Atem is sitting, and glance at his work.

It might just be the intensity of his brush strokes, but somehow his is different from the others.

It's more…

Real.

"That's nice," I tell him.

"Huh?" he says, a little confused.

I gesture towards his easel.

"I said, it's nice. The shading and everything."

"Oh," he mouths. " Thanks."

"Welcome."

And that's that.

I pick up my brush and begin my own creation, expecting nothing else to be said.

But then Atem surprises me.

"Yours is nice, too," he says.

I feel a slight pull on the corner of my lips.

I hadn't even really started yet.

"Thanks," I say softly, looking back at him.

I gaze back at his piece of art.

"Who's that?" I hear myself ask him.

His eyes follow my finger until they're staring at the person he's drawn in the center of his Hell, entrapped by flames.

"Oh, you know," he says, lifting his shoulders a little. "A sinner."

~O~

You know, I think to myself…

I don't have to go in.

I could just…run.

'Yeah?' the other side of my brain mocks. 'And where would you run to?'

'I don't know…somewhere. Anywhere but here.'

But even as I think this, I know in my heart that 'anywhere' was out of reach.

So, I unlock the front door and walk inside my house.

I want to just collapse on the couch, but I don't.

Instead, I make my way to the kitchen and flick on the first light I see.

The cabinets creak in the silence of the room as I pull out two plates and two glasses.

I absent-mindedly set up the table for dinner, listening to the microwave as it makes its dull sound.

The soup I threw in doesn't take long, and soon I find myself sitting at the end of the table, steam rising to my face from my bowl.

I glance up at the other side of the table, to where the empty plate is.

To the place I always had set aside for him at the table.

Then I look back down at my food and think back to earlier that day.

To the very end of art class, when I was finishing up my drawing.

Atem had leaned over and asked 'What's that?'

'This?' I had said to him. 'This is my house.'