I need to go. I’ve made too many mistakes. I’m all out of rights. I need to go home. But home is gone. Home could not be an option for the man as he lurks through the late empty streets. His family is gone. The dogs have taken them. His life is gone. The dogs have taken everything. A group of teenagers sit alongside the curb. The man is reminded of his youth, parading through the darkening streets, finding moles for the past Ductor. He was a protege. He was born to lead. Decked out in black, with the stale scent of cigarettes and weed permeating through the teenagers’ hushed conversation. They watch the man, but the man does not watch them back. If he is recognized, he will never make it back home. Back to his home. That small, self enclosed box he had made for himself. All the decorations, furniture, lighting, everything was done by him. His home was his safe haven. Filled with the quiet tranquility of a lovely dream, of homemade food, of the pure essence of peace. Though, nightmares are also a type of dream. But home was never a nightmare for the man. Outside was the nightmare. Outside is where the suffocating stench of calamity washes its way through the air. Outside is hungry. And the man never wasted a moment to protect his home. From pesticides and gas to repellents and electricity. Never would the man let the invasive gobs of glittery greed leech its way into his nirvana. Into his sanctuary. Into his home. Home is where the heart is, and home is where that heart is the most vulnerable. That is where the dogs got him. The man continues through the barren streets, hiding in the shadows left by the moon. Until he reached his destination.

  “Welcome Home!”

  The crassly painted strands of the door mat spells out. Welcome home. But this is not his home. This was a disfigured, mutated version of his amity. Providing more agitation than appeasement. A mocking replacement of serenity. But here was safe. Here, the dogs were naught but a dimension of reality that no longer existed. Destroying themselves through their own naivety and foolishment. Shown only in the future as a warning, a caution to those that will destroy themselves. He entered his asylum, only to find darkness. Here there was no electricity. Spying a candle and a pack of matches placed near the door, the man lit the wick and carried on throughout the “home.” Laid out on a table was a vanilla folder.

  “For the Ductor’s eyes only”

  He knew what this was.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Secret —Warrant of Arrest for Mr Audric Whitlock”

  Spread out along the antique wood. The pages, pitiful in their attempt for conviction. But Audric knows he has done no wrong. He couldn’t have done anything wrong. He just needs to go home. Through their mistake, they have taken his rights. Is it not human to pine for security? Is it not human to tense and protect? Is it not human to defend? Audric flips through the endless pages of fallacies when the counts catch his eye.

  “(i) imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group as a crime of genocide (article 6(d) of the Statute);

  (ii) extermination as a crime against humanity (article 7(1)(b) of the Statute);

  (iii) imprisonment as a crime against humanity (article 7(1)(e) of the Statute);

  (iv) torture as a crime against humanity (article 7(1)(f) of the Statute);

  (v) enforced sterilization as a crime against humanity (article 7(1)(g)-3 of the Statute);

  (vi) outrage of personal dignity as a war crime (article 8(2)(b)(xxi) of the Statute); and

  (vii) starvation as a war crime (article 8(2)(b)(xxv) of the Statute).”

  The accusations. The hostility. Those contemptible fools. These crimes are listed towards humans. Those were not humans nor people. Those were dogs. They are the ones who ceremonially feasted on all of the livestock when the swineherd turned their head. They were the ones who beat and butchered the very foundation of a well-kept farm. He had saved them. He had saved them from tribulation after tribulation. From any wretchedness and afflictions the dogs were to force on them. Those that do not stand with him now suffer the consequences. Look at what the dogs do without a tightly kept leash. They took his home. They have forsaken his rights. All he wants is to go home. Back to his rightful position. Placed in the back of the folder was a plain white note. He recognized the handwriting immediately. There was his true mistake. Trust in a supposed confidant.

  “Take care, and I hope you enjoy contact poisoning.”

  How foolish. Audric did not drop the folder as he looked at his hands. No redness. No irritation. No poison. Of course, just another lie stacked upon lies stacked upon lies. His confidant had always lacked a spine. But now, Audric must leave. This letter was a mercy, a warning as to what is to come. This place was no longer safe. Before he left, Audric took out the page of his supposed crimes and held it over the candle. No more could be as fascinating as watching a fable disappear into its unwritten history. There is no space for falsehood upon fact. Dark smoke dances in the air, rising as his sins are lifted. A pop sounds out from the ceiling as liquid begins to descend as the fire sprinkler hisses to life. Just as the liquid sluiced across his skin, every muscle in his body began to tense and cramp and burn. No breath could be obtained as his lungs began to seize. In a fit of a firestorm of nerves, he collapses to the ground. The liquid drenches every inch of him. Leaving no skin clean nor dry. Audric's vision begins to fade. How taboo.