He was having flashbacks of his most hated memories — the memories he wanted to forget, the memories that hurt him the most. They were not just a part of his life anymore; they were slowly destroying him. Every memory felt like a wound reopening again and again, refusing to heal. He felt like he was being punished by his own past, and with every passing day, he was disappearing little by little, as if he had never existed in the first place.
He couldn't sleep at night. The silence made it worse. In the darkness, those memories haunted him like ghosts that refused to leave. No matter how hard he tried to close his eyes, they followed him. He was still a child on the inside — a child who once believed he had grown strong enough to face the cruelty of the world. He thought he had matured, that he had become capable of surviving the hatred around him and the evil that existed in the universe.
But he was wrong.
He believed he had grown up, but he hadn't. Instead, he was slowly becoming the kind of person he never wanted to be. The pain shaped him into something unfamiliar, something broken. He felt trapped inside a version of himself he didn't recognize.
The nightmares never stopped. He kept seeing his grandmother dying in front of him, her voice fading as he stood helpless. He saw Lia being killed, her face frozen in fear. He saw his parents forcing him to go back with them — only to give up on him again, just like before. Every dream felt real, and every time he woke up, the pain stayed.
He didn't want to live anymore.
But he didn't want to die either.
He was stuck somewhere in between — too tired to continue, too afraid to let go — cursed to exist in a life that felt heavier with every breath