The first thing I felt was the cold.
Not a normal kind of cold something that crept into the bone, merciless and sharp.
I opened my eyes. The air was dry, like a slap across the face.
"Where… am I?"
My voice came out in fragments, like I'd been running all night.
I looked around.
The ground was stone rough, solid. No blanket. No pillow. Nothing.
My back was stiff, like I'd slept on a slab of ice.
I raised my hand slowly. It didn't move right away.
It didn't feel like mine. As if I was learning to use my body all over again.
"Was I… dreaming?"
A question thrown into the void. No answer.
My head felt heavy not from a blow, but from the silence piled up inside me.
A faint voice echoed within, messing with my breath, my heart, my memory.
An old ache, I didn't know when it began, but it never left.
I tried to sit up.
Everything hurt my back, my ribs. Even breathing felt like labor.
As if my body had been lying here for ages.
I managed to sit.
The air around me didn't feed my lungs it filled them with some strange weight.
I looked around.
The walls were pale, damp, endless.
Like I was in a place with no features, no time, no sound.
I whispered:
"Where did the cat go?"
A question that made no sense here.
But I'd heard it last night his voice, his presence. Or maybe… I imagined it.
Was he real?
Did he vanish?
Or have I lost the ability to tell dream from reality?
I looked at my palm.
A small scar.
I don't remember when it appeared, but I was sure it didn't come from a dream.
Dreams don't leave scars.
I stood.
It was hard, as if my legs didn't trust me.
But I stood not because I could, but because I'd fallen enough.
One step. Then another...
Then a sound came from deep within me not from my mouth, but from the pit of my gut.
A growl.
I placed my hand on my stomach.
It wasn't just hunger it was a rebellion inside me, like something was ready to burst.
I whispered:
"Hold on… not now."
But hunger doesn't understand words.
It was closer to a riot.
A desperate grab for something essential food… life.
I let out a faint, broken laugh:
"Even the garbage is gone."
I took a step.
The growling returned.
It wasn't just begging for food it was pleading for dignity.
My hand reached into my pocket not to search, but to make sure there was nothing.
But I found something.
Cold, copper coins.
Three of them.
Three tiny reminders that I still existed… and that I still needed.
I stared at them for a long moment.
Then at the horizon as if it were asking me my name, my past, my future.
I closed my fingers around the coins.
Tightly.
Not because they were valuable, but because they were all I had.
I muttered:
"Is this… all I have left?"
The answer was clear.
Yes.
I walked.
The city didn't welcome me, nor did it reject me. It simply watched, in silence.
Another growl.
A sound I couldn't ignore.
I touched the wall beside me.
As if I needed to feel something real.
Then I spoke:
"My mother used to call me Yamibõ."
I said the name slowly.
Like I was recalling a faded voice, a faded embrace, a faded home.
I looked ahead.
"Now? It's the name they gave me among the vagabonds."
I opened my hand and flipped the coin.
I whispered:
"My age? Seventeen."
Not with pride, but surprise.
Seventeen… and it feels like I've lived a hundred years.
I continued:
"No one knows… and no one cares."
Then softly:
"Yamibõ… son of the lower city."
I pressed my fingers to my chest.
Just to make sure I was still here.
I headed toward the bakery.
The smell wasn't comforting it was painful.
It didn't awaken hunger it awakened memory.
I saw a crowd at the corner.
I approached.
Not because I wanted to, but because something inside me moved.
I heard someone say:
"Did you hear what happened to Ray?"
Ray...
The man who used to give me a piece of bread without asking.
The one who didn't smile much, but still saw me.
I said to myself:
"Ray?"
And the reply came:
"The guards took him this morning… for execution."
Everything stopped.
Then another voice:
"He didn't pay the tax."
Silence choked everything.
Then a third voice, filled only with grief:
"He'll be hanged today… in the city square."
I collapsed.
I don't remember how or when I just found myself on the ground.
My hands hit the stone, my head dropped forward, and my body wouldn't move.
I pressed my palms against my skull… hard.
As if I could stop something from exploding inside me but the echo was louder than the silence.
"No... no... no... no... no... no... no..."
I wasn't talking to anyone.
I wasn't waiting for a reply.
I was just trying to convince myself that what I'd heard… wasn't real.
That Ray the only man who didn't look at me with disgust was still here.
But I wasn't convincing anyone.
Not even myself.
"When?"
Someone asked.
Another voice answered, low and sharp like a blade:
"Today. At the main square.
I heard they've already started preparing the platform."
My blood froze.
I stood up. I don't know how. I don't know why. But my legs moved on their own.
The hunger still tore at me, but something stronger was pulling me now.
I started running.
The streets were a blur, my face pale, and the air struck me from all sides.
But I didn't stop.
My legs trembled, my stomach ached in silence,
but I ran faster than I ever had before.
Every stone I stepped on nearly brought me down.
Every breath I exhaled burned.
But all I could hear was a voice inside screaming:
"I won't let him die alone."
I passed walls, passersby, children playing in the dirt…
But everything was fog, except my destination.
The square.
The big square where executions are held.
It used to be a place for bread and water festivals.
But ever since the city changed, everything changed.
Every corner now gleamed with fear.
Every stone had memorized the names of those who went up and never came down.
With every step, a voice whispered inside me:
"You're too late, you're too late, you're too late..."
But I didn't let it win.
I kept running, even as my breath shattered and the air refused to enter.
My steps staggered.
My legs barely held me up.
Then suddenly… I stumbled.
My body crashed to the ground I slammed into someone's shoulder and dropped beside them onto the stone.
A quiet cry escaped me from the pain.
The man I'd bumped into turned toward me slowly.
His eyes looked down at me like I was trash stuck to his shoe.
With a voice soaked in disgust, he said:
"Get away from me, you filthy… rotten dog."
He didn't shout. He didn't strike.
But he said it like a spit he couldn't be bothered to aim.
His words hit harder than the hunger.
The pain wasn't in the body it was in the soul.
I slowly lifted my head.
I saw his face… smooth skin, clean clothes, rich perfume.
He walked away without a glance.
As if he'd stepped on a bug not worth the effort of crushing.
I stayed on the ground for a moment.
My hands shook. My chest rose and fell too fast.
I didn't know anymore was I crying? Shivering? Or just trying not to break under the weight of all the eyes that passed by without seeing me?
But there was no time to stay down.
I stood again.
I pulled myself together, even though everything inside me was falling apart.
"Ray's still there… He must not die."