The dream was familiar by now: he woke up in his childhood bedroom, the house set on fire by his deadbeat father. The initial sense of dread and wonder has long ceased to exist, in fact Gerrit by now chose this beginning to his dreams willingly. It has become sort of a tradition for him. He laid in the too small bad a while longer, feeling the stinging pain of the fire around and gathered his thoughts. He used this dream when he wanted to talk to the Wicker Man.

Finding the Wicker Man was easy: he had to get out of bed, walk through the door and navigate the burnt and barren forest until he reached the clearing. The fire that once raged in the forest was no more. Winter has set over Gerrit's dreamscape, it buried the remnants of the past under a fine sheet of snow. The burning sensation remained though, only now it stemmed from the biting cold that surrounded the Ogre on his way to the clearing. He could make the way shorter - it was his own dream, after all - but much like the beginning the long walk through the skeletal trees was part of the ritual.

Soon he reached what he was looking for: the big clearing with the Wicker Man standing in the middle, like a crucified scarecrow. There was still a ominous full moon looming over the clearing, hanging in the wintery clear sky like a white bruise. Over time the clearing had changed, as Gerrit's experiences in the Freehold changed him. From one of EthanhisnamewasEthan's arms hung a small container, it smelled like spring flowers and was uncomfortable to touch. Yamiyo. She asked me to hold that for her before she disappeared. He remembered her, even though the memories weren't all pleasant.
Something else: for a few months now there was a warn breeze going through the clearing every now and then. It should have been soothing, a comfort from the cold, but it only renewed Gerrit's feeling of loss and betrayal. This clearing was a place of remembrance, a place to think of those he had lost. He made sure not to think about his ex wife and his children while he was here - there was only so much Sorrow he could bear and there were other dreams to remember his earlier life.

This was for his new life. For what has become of it.

Slowly the Stonebones walked over to the Wicker Man, the snow cracking under his heavy steps. He sat down a few feet away from his wiry companion and thought. As always, it was not him that started the conversation. "We all make our choices and we must life with the consequences." Like an echo, it was not just the voice he thought he remembered as Ethan's, but also Rhodes' voice coming out of the Wicker Man's mouth. Their discussion at Rosie's, about how Gerrit should deal with his urges. "I don't know what I should chose. Feels like whenever I try to do the right thing, to be a decent person I get punished for it. Why should I keep trying to do the right thing?" There was a pleading quality to Gerrit's voice - in here he didn't have to pretend not to be sad, not to feel absolutely devastated and hollow at the same time. But there was no answer. Instead the cold of the night intensified, turning up the burning sensation all over his skin and finally making him numb. He needed to find shelter, to get warm again - but of course this was just a dream.
This was how things were now - just as the snow covered all the ugly relics of his father the cold could cover the pain that has been festering inside Gerrit. "I don't want to be a bad person." "Just because you don't bend over backwards to please everyone around you you're not a bad person. But learn your lesson: people are shit. If you don't expect anything from anyone then you can't be disappointed." That sounded just like his father, whenever he hit that sweet spot of intoxication where he thought it was a good idea to dispense some junkie wisdom.

But didn't he have a point? Gerrit could stick to his morals - to not lie or steal if it wasn't absolutely necessary, to not indulge in drugs or alcohol - while also temper his expectations and forget that stupid hope that life would get better. There were problems to fix, ways to make himself useful. There were people that somehow liked him and that he liked. Maybe 'happy' was too much to ask for, maybe 'good enough' was more achievable. Did that mean that joy was totally off limits? Of course not, but he didn't have to force feelings that weren't there either. Gerrit was fed up with acting happy to make others feel good about themselves.

He made a choice - now it remained to be seen if he could live with the consequences.