The red light licked the walls, twisting the color of everything. In that room, time didn't exist; only a nightmare repeated itself. Over and over… each moment heavier, more devastating than the last.
With every repetition, something inside me broke anew. My body bore the pain, while my soul unraveled, piece by piece. The marks on my skin were echoes of the silence I carried; the pain wasn't only physical—it was fear reborn with every breath.
I screamed. My voice was swallowed by the walls. Beyond the doors, beyond the corridors, maybe someone was there—but my cries never reached them; they went unheard. Every attempt to say "stop" was another fracture sinking into me.
I became a stranger to myself, observing those moments from afar. My eyes were fixed on the ceiling; I stared at the cracks, asking "why" again and again. No answer came.
What was taken from me grew clearer with time: my trust, my childhood, the deepening shadow of my loneliness. The red light still lingers behind my eyes. I tried to suppress everything, but the pain remained—like a code etched into my body, reopening whenever touched.
This was not a single wound; it was the mark of repeated destruction. Each time, my loneliness shattered again, leaving behind ruins that had to be pieced together once more.
Time had stopped. The notion of time itself ceased to exist. There was only emptiness—just me.
Yet even I wasn't truly there… was I?