"This is why we were built," he speaks through the silence.

He claps two chalk-white bones together slowly. His onyx eyes are focused on the floor that's full of ashes and ashes (we all fall down). That was his motto, "we will all fall down", and that's that. We were all born to die, and to rot in the ground, and it didn't bother him at all.

"This is how we were constructed."

He slides the bones together roughly, scraping of slivers and pieces that remind him of scales and the sorts. He holds the pieces in the wrinkled palm of his left hand, pointing and naming each one.

"You should be, well, you can be Roland, the son I never had. Yes, yes, it fits you to the edge."

He tilts his hand to let them drift to the wooden floor and brushes off the remaining pieces that stick to his hand. He claps the two bones once more.

"Son, I'm so proud of you. I hope you know that. We'll be joining you down there someday, and that's a promise."

He has a story -  a tale in his mouth that he can't heave out. He only finds the strength to speak when the rattling bones awake his insides. And today, he has finally found himself alive. His arms are extended into the dusted air and his feet are pushing against the rotted floor as he attempts to take a stand, just one last stand. And when he finally does, he begins to remember everything and anything. He recalls his birth-name, which is Clive, and he remembers the last time he found solace, but more importantly, he remembers the words.

"This is where we read our final story together; The Scarlet Ibis."

And all across the wooden floor is the entire story written largely in cursive. He kneels down and brushes his fingers across the title. Images of a time when he felt complete flash before his watery eyes.

"You always told me to keep a little piece of you, Caroline."

Tears stream down his worn face as he stares at the bones that rest beside him. Clive suddenly collapses with a loud crash. His arms make snapping noises as he attempts to reach for the bones, but he eventually has to give up. He slowly slides back down and closes his eyes as he tries to breathe softly.

"We've all had our rounds of applause..."

He recites the words of his well-timed past and avoids all thoughts of the future, because that's just how Clive dealt with things. And throughout his life he was a joyful man, ignorant to all of the troubles that came. But now, he is finally understanding the concept of death, the emotion of sorrow, and the idea of isolation.

"This is how we are broken."