Mitch, Joe. The men who died of the rash, or in the mines. Men torn apart by sickly animals. Men. Decent men, even. Unlucky men. They lived modestly, but they had enough. House, food, drink, companions. How could one ask for more? I’ve seen luxury, and I've seen hopelessness. And now I know that nobody asks for the hand they’re dealt, whether it‘s privileged or poor. We just have to do the best with what we have. Maybe if I had thought of that earlier, I would have fallen upon a better fate. If anyone deserves a better fate, it was those men. I think they're dead. I can hear their voices joined in the forest’s song. They want me dead, too. Rightfully so. The way I treated those men, saw myself as better than them. They never deserved it. They slaved away in the mines just so they could stay alive and eat. I pitched them

against the Earth Herself, in the name of money and power. Their sins are on my soul, and they know it. They want me dead so they can go to heaven. I am their unfinished business. Sometimes if I look into a puddle to see my reflection, I see their eyes staring back at me. Eyes of men who know they’ve been wronged and deceived. These are eyes that see the deepest part of you and laugh at how shallow it is. The leftovers of those men hunt me along with the beasts of this forest. They egg them on, and they show the beasts how a man thinks. They're telling the beasts how to hunt me, and I barely want to run anymore. I should just give up and let them get me. I know it's going to happen eventually anyway.

It’s funny how things come back around. Once upon a time I would have been happy to never think of those men again. I wanted to leave them all behind, go back to the city. I would have sneered in glee at the thought of them down in the mines while I was out in a glamourous chariot. Now I'm glad to think they’re still out there in the world, if not in a human form. I get the feeling now that they always knew who I was. I was a terrible undercover miner. I knew none of their slang, and I turned my nose up at their food and drinks. I was a pansy to work with in the mines, and my hands were soft and blistered easily. No wonder I never learned much about them. They would have seen right through me on first glance. Now they're dead because of me. I’m drenched in their blood and plagued with their cries for mercy. Condemned by their eyes, hunted by their shadows, assaulted by their whispers, and cursed with their memory. They're still here, and they won't stop marching forward with every beast, bug, and creature in this forest. Not until I’m cast far below with the fire and the demon from my Father’s room.

Stolen novel; please report.

I do wonder what happened to poor Benjamin. I haven't seen his eyes or heard a whispered promise of revenge from him. His shadow isn't here. Perhaps he’s still alive. He always was a smart fellow, sharp as a tack. He had weapons to defend himself. Maybe he escaped before the town was consumed by the forest. Where he would have gone, I don't know, but he knew his way about the country well. He was a true outdoorsman, and an honourable man at the core. Without him, it’s likely that I wouldn't have learned anything at all from the other miners. He was kind to me, even when all I ever wanted was to use him for what he knew. I hope he lived, but if he did die, I hope he made it to heaven.

I’m lucky to have found some time to write this down. I’ve lost the beasts on my trail for the moment, but I can hear them in the distance. I can hear the song telling them how to find me, and I can feel the forest drink away my blood. The blood I'm using to write this has turned a sickly silver-green. I can see my bones through my skin, and I can see my organs shrivelling away into dark spots of rot. I don't even know if I have eyes anymore. My skin is sliced and torn beyond repair, and each cut oozes with sticky acid. The soles of my feet are torn away from running, running, running. I am beyond food, rest, or sleep, but I will continue on. I will run until my legs disintegrate and dissolve into murky pond water. I will run until my lungs wear through my ribcage, even if every puff of air escapes through the holes. I will run even if I am just a collection of cracked, dusty bones and raw, exposed nerves. I will run.

If the beasts had wanted to catch me, they surely could have by now. I’ve been reduced to a sickly, decomposing corpse of a creature. I can barely see where I’m going. Chunks of flesh have rotted away from my body, and the deathly white bone gleams through. I am slow and tired. But they’re driving me on. Herding me further and further into the forest. They won’t let me die until they decide to. I just want it to be over. Each step takes more life from me, and I can feel myself fading. At least for now I can rest a moment.

There’s a glowing light up ahead, and it's not from the sun. The beasts are taking their time in catching up. It seems we have nearly arrived at the place they plan to end me. It feels like it has been years, and now I’m going home. I’m singing my part in the song, and it is finally complete.