A daze. That's what I'm in right now. Blinking blood out of my eyes. 'I have loved he stars too much, to be afraid of the night.'

Wood. Trees. Pebbles on the ground. Book in my hand. Pain in my heart. I sit down, stunned, and look up. I hear my stomach grumble. It's kinda sick, you know- to hear your stomach ask for food after you've see someone die.

"And there you are..." I get up quickly and look around. I hope that people would stop taking me by surprise like that. It's...unnerving. I see Walter this is not the time I thought I needed 'Grief'. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the book. 'Uh...nothing. Listen, there's someone..." "Dead in the shack. I heard. Word spreads." He concluded, leaving me in absolute shock. Was someone...is someone...spying on me? Walter?

"Come on, we have to attend the burning." He said. Ambiguous. I hoped.

Feeling numb and wasted, I walked with Walter. "She was named 'Cherish", by the way- the girl who died in your presence."

"Cherish? Well, Walter..."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you not as scared as I am? People usually don't take someone's death this lightly. You know, they get hyper and call the police. That's normal. Why doesn't anyone care? What is this place?" I blurted out too fast, clutching the book harder, the cut stinging. I looked at him. He didn't reflect any emotion, but he sighed.

"We here don't call it death. We call it the 'Passing'. And you didn't kill her, right..."

"How do you even know..." I interrupted but he glared at me and continued. Some people hate being interrupted.

"...so it doesn't count as a 'Killing'. You've been here enough to see that this place isn't what you would call normal. This is..."

He paused. And it was what you would call a bit exaggerated pause. It gave me time to reflect how this conversation was going. If you're a normal person, you've probably noted that Walter and I weren't talking the way normal people do. It was a bit abrupt and answering. Not engaging at all. I asked, he answered. It gave me a feeling like...

I'm in a story. And it really gives me a jolt. Am I a fictional character? Am I made of ink or graphite rather than flesh, blood and emotion? Surreal, yes. It gives rise to a rather important question-

Are you reading what I write or are you reading me? Well, if I am made of ink with a predetermined fate, a predetermined existence span, I beg the author to make me whole. I never, ever want to be inchoate.

Please.

I have an urge to cry. But, dearest ink-ling, my heart runs dry. You wash me with your tears and I...

I think, therefore I am.

I just wish I knew if someone else is thinking for me. And if someone is...

So, back to Walter, now that that's brought to light.

"This is, laconically speaking- 'The Poet's Heart.'" He looked at me, probably saw my expression and added- "Well, I didn't give the name."

"And poets as in those who write undecipherable rhyming words?"

"Umm, no. here they are much more than that. And... how do I explain it? Yeah- they make this place as it is. They are this place. And why doesn't anyone care about the deaths? That's cause this place is that hollow, stunned, land, cut off from the world, where people come to bury. People come here to bury stuff. Secrets, other people, themselves, books...," he said eying the one I was holding. "...they come here to let go of things that don't let then breathe. And they get to do so, procedural-y. Some people are forced. Some break. Some die. And yeah- none of us wants to be here. But you can't get out. You fucking can't escape this place cause they'll kill you if you do." Walter seemed afraid now. He seemed angry. "They'll cut you into pieces- those poets." He kept looking back.

"But what about the kids? Don't they deserve..." I asked and he cut in. "They do. They deserve to have a life. But they wont. They'll grow up here and they'll die here. The poets...they're freaking sadists, you know that? Out of their minds. And you wanna know why they're doing this?"

"Why?" I asked. My voice a soft whisper now.

"Fun." And he stopped walking. "I think it's time to stop pretending, Zero. Someone did escape this place- you did. The last time you were here, you found out something about this place. Something that Leia told you before she died. Something you were about to tell us but couldn't because they were after you. They were gonna kill you. And you escaped. No idea how. And after about a month, here you are again. You know what?" he dropped his voice. "They're still gonna kill you Zero, unless you tell us the secret. And they're gonna kill us. Turbulent lies Zero. You came here to bury something."

"I don't..." I started but he cut in again.

"You came to bury something beyond their comprehension. You gave us hints, surely. You were always one of those shitty mind game players. You gave us these-" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a... he pulled out a card. The two of Clubs. With something scrawled over it.

"-You gave us these and disappeared. Zee, if you don't tell, we're gonna freaking die. We'll be-" He stopped abruptly. I felt something cold touch my back and I froze. "Stop." I heard a harsh whisper. I looked at Walter. He had his eyes wide and afraid and was shaking.

Everyone does that when they have a gun pushed into their back. There were three people with black cloth up to their nose. And hoods. Black. I saw them when I looked back and one of them hit me on the shoulder. It hurts when you do that with a gun. They didn't talk. Only pushed us forward through the woods, and when the woods broke, I could see the beginning of the sea.