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the ability to stop it. Dreadfully, the hours passed with a silence that seemed to create its own miscellaneous sounds.
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                  The knock on the front door came at 6:00 AM. Two members of the Parliament took Milo from his home and walked him to the center Salem, where there was a stage build for public hangings. Snow fluttered down from the cloudy morning sky. Milo thought he would have a depressing moment where in his head he would accumulate his memories, but instead he wasn’t thinking. He effortlessly let the Parliament members walk him up the stairs of the stage, where now people from the city were gathering.
                  The night before his father had said to him, “Don’t be afraid, Milo.” He thought about this briefly and in his head responded to his father the way he wished he had last night. I’m not afraid. I’m furious. He looked at the snow-covered ground for the entire walk, but now as they reached the height of the stairs, he looked at the men that had taken him there and shot them both quick looks that spoke his thoughts. This is wrong.
                  One of the men, who Milo had seen before, perhaps at the dinner hall, glanced back at him with a look that told of sorrow. The other man simply turned away with a remorseful expression. These men, although they knew it was a harrowing act, could do nothing to stop it. Mr. Charlie entered in his dark colored chariot into the crowd of citizens, who he knew all had an ill hatred towards him. A Parliament member followed behind him, stepping out of the chariot with a silver microphone and handing it to Mr. Charlie, who had now found a comfortable seat on his wooden chair. Milo felt the noose being draped over his head. He discernibly noticed a hooded figure in black weaving through the crowd.
    Mr. Charlie then stood from his chair and spoke. “Proceed.”
    Milo sought the crowd for people he knew. He didn’t see his father, or any of the doctors, nor Lyrah.
                  I told you that you can trust me, Milo. It was her voice. Milo’s eyes widened.
                  The man reached to pull the lever and there was a crisp cracking sound that Milo heard from his right ear. The lever had not been pulled, and he looked at the man responsible. Instead, the man had ceased movement to look at his arm, which was being callously manipulated by an unseen force. The man shouted, but it was just a mix of sounds, not words that could be deciphered. He cried out, “my bones!” Milo cringed at the sight of the man’s finger bones unpredictably cracking and jolting around under his skin. The veins lining this man’s arm began to throb viciously, and then he collapsed in agony as the veins abruptly broke free from his skin in a bloody flare.
                  Everyone turned away from the disturbing sight. A few people began to vomit, including Milo. Mr. Charlie rose from his seat with a devilish look in his eyes. Milo looked down at the blood-soaked wood below him, and came to the realization that he had not been hanged. Am I doing this? He swiftly pulled the noose off his neck and bolted off the stage, heading for the Forest. Few members of the crowd cheered him on, driving his speed and fury, while others still stood screaming at the sight of the mangled Parliament member. As he ran, he heard a few more loud cracking sounds, similar to that of thunder, followed by more shrieks from the crowd.
                  Mr. Charlie roared, “Stop him!”
                  The Parliament member lay on the stage dead in a pool of fresh blood, and with his spine torn halfway from his body. Half the crowd had left, either for the disgust of murder and shed blood or for fear of a similar demise being cast upon them. The remaining members of the crowd stood in an awkward bunch, wondering what events would occur next.
                  Mr. Charlie began to walk