In these six months of freedom, I’ve learned a harsh truth: if you aren’t selfish, you will die. gone are the days when mister brought me a meal every other day, a cruel kind of stability I’d grown accustomed to. now, I scavenge for scraps, or more often, I steal. the act fills me with shame, a deep sense of wrongness I can’t shake. but what choice do I have? hunger doesn’t care about morality, and neither does the world I’ve been thrust into.
the truth is, I’m terrible at it. I’m clumsy, desperate, and obvious. that’s how I ended up here, slowly dying from starvation. my stomach growls constantly, each pang of hunger a reminder of my fragility. I should feel fear, but instead, I feel an odd sense of calm, as if I’ve already made peace with my fate. maybe it’s because I’ve already achieved something I thought was forever out of reach, I’ve seen the sky.
Its boundless expanse filled me with a peace I thought was lost forever. It was the light in my darkest days, a hope that sustained me through the suffocating darkness of captivity.
So, really, is there any reason to feel sorry for myself? perhaps it's not pity I need, but understanding. this is my journey, marked by pain, yet illuminated by the beauty of that sky. In the end, that's what kept me going, what made this struggle worthwhile. I even felt like I was flying.
Wait... flying?
"Wrap your hands around my neck; I've got you."
Back when I was still captive, books were my only escape. my favorite was about an angel who defied his purpose to save a human. He wasn’t meant to intervene, but he did anyway, risking everything for a higher cause. The angel was described as radiant, a being of light and grace. But my angel wasn’t celestial.
He was a man. tall, broad shouldered, with blond hair that fell in soft bangs, and a dark mustache and beard framing a face of quiet strength. He wasn’t light or grace, but flesh and blood, and he was carrying me as if I weighed nothing. with the little strength I had left, I did as he asked and wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging to him.
"here you go, just hold on. I'll take you to the hospital quickly," he said, his voice steady and brimming with quiet reassurance. his gaze remained fixed ahead, sharp and unyielding, scanning the streets for the quickest route, as though the urgency of the moment could somehow lighten the weight we both carried.
