In that total void... that void without eyes, without form, without refuge, a void vaster than the sky, more suffocating than hell, a void without judgment, without anger, without echo — just that blind nothingness, stretched around me like an impalpable cage, deaf and bare, I opened my mouth again.
And I screamed.
Not like one screams to break the silence, nor like one begs in hope of a miracle. I screamed with a broken breath, split, hoarse — a rattle of a child left too long in the shadows, a deep, veiled, almost guttural cry, a sob covered in ash.
— WHAT SHOULD I DO?!
My voice trembled. Not in the air — in me. It split my belly before collapsing into silence, like a blade too soft to wound the world but too sharp to spare me. I lowered my head. Short of breath. My forehead burning. My lips still trembling from the scream.
— What should I do...
It was no longer a question.
It was an admission.
