His head spun.
The pain was unbearable—like his skull was about to split open from the inside, like his mind was spiraling down into something it couldn't climb out of, suffocating under the weight of memories he'd never had. Images he couldn't place. Voices he'd never heard. Feelings that weren't his, crashing into him faster than his body could process them.
He slammed his head against the ground, trying to knock it loose. Trying to make it stop.
But the dirt wouldn't let him. It was too soft, too forgiving, cushioning every blow just enough to keep the pain from ending. He couldn't break through. Couldn't break out. Couldn't make it stop.
He dropped to his knees, then rolled onto his side. His nails dug into his scalp, clawing at something he couldn't reach.
'Please stop. Please. Please stop.'
He didn't know who he was begging. The pain. The memories. The ground. Anyone who might be listening.
And then—slowly—it did.
Not because anyone answered.
