1 0 - Ill Matto.

The floor shakes and the walls rattle as the sound of a passing train roars above you.

You are in a dark room. The absence of windows allows no light to enter. But somehow, you can make out the features of the enclosed space. In front of you stands a wooden desk and beyond it, a man sitting down on a chair.

"Welcome."

The man says in a familiar voice. His face is hidden in the darkness from where you stand, but you can most certainly see the shimmer in his smile.

Your head is filled with questions, but you mouth no words.

"I know you have questions, but in this place, 'tis I that asks. But please, make yourself at home. I mean you no harm. More so, I mean to assist you."

The man leans in and takes a piece of paper from his drawers. He places it on the desk facing you.

"Before we begin, please, write your name."

You come forward without a hint of caution. The room emits no malice albeit drenched in a dreadful darkness. You take the piece of paper but before you can even ask for a pen, your name writes itself.

"Ah, a fitting name. Now if I may, I will ask you a series of questions. Do not worry, here there is no right or wrong."

You look closely at the paper you are holding. Words start to appear right below the space your name was written.

"Picture the words I speak and we shall begin. First off, find a memory where you feel the safest and walk toward it. In front of you lies..."

A cabinet. One which you remember owning as a child. A towering wooden encasement of your most cherished treasures in the world. Or so it would seem, as now you would be standing at a length twice more than it is. Still you find yourself only at its feet. You look around and see that you are in your old room. You feel a spark of joy and excitement, the same you felt whenever you came home from school to embrace a world you often had for your own. You also feel the crash of loneliness as you smell the scent of your mother's perfume who stands just outside each time to watch over you.

The cabinet opens up. As the door creaks, you behold a collection of figures as grand as you remember it was. Your gaze fixes upon a toy soldier as it struggles to stand from its position.

"Question number one."

The voice of the man echoes around the room.

The soldier approaches you.

"Bear which burden?"

The soldier speaks with the man's voice. You look at the paper you are holding and see a series of words below the question that was just asked: *resolve*, *truth*, *sacrifice*, *affection*.

In your mind you chose; *truth*.

Just as your mind's voice spoke the word, all the other words vanished, leaving only *truth*.

The soldier collapses in front of you. Your gaze once again wanders. This time, it sets upon the figure of a horse. It springs to life and gallops towards you.

"Question number two."

"Walk which path?"

You look at the paper once more: *belief*, *freedom*, *wealth*, *longevity*.

You choose *freedom*, and the horse collapses.

Your eyes wander once again, but this time you understand. It sets itself upon a bucket which held the bricks of Lego. You stand back as it rumbles, spilling forth the blocks which by itself forms the figure of a titanic man.

The towering figure kneels in front of you like a knight does to his king.

"Question number three."

"Build which plan?"

You quickly look for your answer among: *strife*, *wisdom*, *hatred*, *prosperity*.

It was *wisdom*.

Realizing your predicament, you brace yourself as the giant breaks down into little pieces, carrying you in a flash flood of color.

You wake up and find yourself in a room full of books. You are in a library, more specifically, the one in your old school. You used to come here as a kid, often fascinated by the comic books which the librarian displayed for kids like yourself. You walk around the halls of shelves, running your fingers across the books which you have never read. Your hand stops and you pick up the book you were touching.

It was a journal, without a name or a title. You realize that the paper you were holding was gone. Just as you start to look for it, a voice speaks from the school speakers.

"Question number four."

The voice crackles into static. You gaze upon the open journal in your hand. You see the familiar drawing of a wizard, and realize it was yours. The wizard moves to conjure a fireball in its palms.

"Swear which oath?"

*Purity*, *Vengeance*, *Victory*, *Fruition*.

You remember the librarian. He was the kindest person you knew. The closest thing you had to a big brother. He told you a story once, the one in which he was the subject of bullying as he grew up. It affected him in ways that would hinder him from ever getting a normal life. It was why he shared the comic books with you, so that you may gain the courage to fight where he did not.

The thought of being bullied angers you, and on a whim, your mind chooses *vengeance*.

The page burns up and disappears, leaving you with a sense of confusion. You decide to put the journal back in its shelf. As you walk back towards the tables, you see the librarian's desk beside the entrance. The high seat often gave you the image of a throne, and to sit there felt like a king governing the masses of kids coming in to get a glimpse of the picture books. You approach it and notice a book lying on the floor. You pick it up and remember.

It was the heavy book of medieval history. You used to stand on this to be able to climb the librarian's seat. You decide to open it when the speakers come back to life.

"Question number five."

You stare at a picture of a king sitting on his throne. The king motions you to come near, and like a screen playing a video, the image zooms in on the king's face.

"Share which vision?"

You read the description of the image: *sadness*, *mercy*, *bliss*, *terror*.

Looking at the king's eyes you see the pooling of his tears. You start to wonder what makes the king sad, and so you begin to skim the pages hoping to understand, but you fail to gain anything. Your mind defaults to *mercy*.

The king's eyes slowly closes, and so does yours.

You wake up once again and find yourself upon a vast field of grass. The wind blows gently against your face, and you feel a sense of freedom. You hear bells ringing in the distance. You look to your left and see a church, and then you realize; you stand upon your mother's grave.

You look down at the ground and see the tombstone which you have not visited in a long time. You kneel and touch its surface. You feel your skin rest upon the cold marble and remember the tribulations, all of it. You cannot bear to stay long in this place and so you walk towards the church.

The church is empty save for the altar just below the magnificent carving of a cross. You approach the altar and find the piece of paper with all your answers so far. A voice speaks inside your mind.

"My final question. Shape which future?"

The words *glory*, *peace*, *change*, and *control* appear.

Your mind beckons you to choose *peace* but your memory gets in the way. You remember the last words your mother parted with you; "Only you and no one else, can change your fate... Do not be afraid."

You didn't notice how your mouth moved and spoke the lines.

*Change*.

With a loud bang, the world around you cracks like glass, and ultimately shatters to reveal yourself standing in the very room you started in. The dark room.

You see the man once again, still covered in darkness save for his smile.

"Well then, I believe you are all set. As a parting gift, I want you to take this card. Who knows it will be useful for the days to come."

The man slides a card across the desk. You draw it. It was a tarot card; *The Fool*. You hold onto it as you slowly slip away from your consciousness.

The man stands up from his seat.

"I wish you all the luck. You will need it."