#bdam

 He always enjoyed quiet mornings such as this one.

 He was standing in the kitchen, removing a mug from a nearby cupboard and placing it in front of him. He rummaged through the shelves for a moment, searching for a teabag. He begun heating up some water as he prepared sugar and a single slice of lemon – Unusual additions to tea, but something he himself enjoyed. He hummed a familiar melody under his breath as he poured the water into the cup and stirred it with a small teaspoon, watching the liquid turn a light brown shade. He picked up the cup and moved to another window, watching the views outside as he waited for the drink to cool down. He smiled to himself – his nation was beautiful, wasn't it?

 The walls were gone, but they always kept L'Manberg so constrained, anyway. It was nice. He could see the newly built pathways, all placed atop large platforms, standing over a crater. Where had this crater come from, anyway? Houses stood alongside them, citizens waking up one by one and opening their windows to the new day. The sun was rising, birds were singing their song, and a gentle breeze was flowing through the city, making the grass sway and dance with it. He took a deep breath, feeling his shoulders relax. The smell of tea was slowly but surely filling the room, entrancing him in a warm cover of peace. Something in it felt so familiar-

 It was never meant to be.

 What... Was that?

 He grabbed onto his head, a headache seemingly coming out of nowhere. No, no, that didn't seem right. It didn't fit. Something there wasn't normal. He felt something scratching at his throat, forcing him to clear it. Soon enough, he felt himself being forced to cough, covering his face with his hands. Looking down, he found... Blood? No, no. It wasn't blood. Something else, something... Blue? It dripped down his palm, and he watched it fall as-

 Kill me, Phil.

 These memories didn't fit. These dreams weren't real. Something wasn't right, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't tell what it was. He coughed again, this time into his sweater... Yellow sweater... Where was his uniform? His presidential uniform? Why was there blood-

 You know there's no other way to stop this.

 Blood on the sweater a cut in his stomach he coughed more and more and the blue-

 I didn't want it to go this far.

 down his nose his mouth his face his hands his

 I'm sorry I can't control it.

 I'm sorry I was born a monster.

 I'm sorry.

 CRASH

 He looked up, a warm smile coming to his face. Finally, someone familiar. He was standing at the other side of the kitchen, staring at him. At his feet there were the remains of a shattered cup, one he had clearly dropped. He was always clumsy – But that was okay. They could clean it up. They could put it back together. Everything could always be put back together, could it not? He stepped forward, giving him a wave.

 'Hello! Good morning.'.

 He stepped back, trembling in horror. He tilted his head.

 'What's wrong?'.

 He felt his heart beat faster and faster. He watched him as he giggled.

 'You look like you've seen a ghost!'.

 Tommy's eyes stayed focused on Wilbur Soot as he stood in his kitchen with a bloody cut across his stomach and empty, white eyes.

 And for the first time since the war the year previous, he screamed.

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