At noon, the guards assembled the prisoners and lined them up outside the yard.
Snow descended slowly before it settled on the ground, iron roofs, watchtowers, and the shoulders of the inmates exposed to the cold.
Irin lined up with the others. The flimsy prison attire he wore, along with others, provided little protection from the harsh cold, which easily penetrated his clothing and chilled him to the bone.
At the front of the yard, a steam carriage hissed and came to a stop.
It was an ugly thing. The carriage was long, black, and its iron frame was rough with rust and old mends. Steam hissed from valves along its sides, and its gigantic wheels rested on iron rails.
Guards casually positioned themselves along the line, attentively watching the prisoners. A few leaned on their batons; meanwhile, others were quietly laughing amongst themselves. One guard, stationed at the carriage door, cuffed each prisoner and then handed them a small, rigid identification card.
As Irin got to the front, the guard barely looked at his face.
"Hands out," the man said.
As Irin stretched out his arms, the guard fastened a cuff to his wrist. After tossing an identity card with a number to Irin, he then recorded it down on a piece of paper.
"Lose it, and you'll get whipped," the guard warned. "If you break it, you won't eat for a whole day."
Irin gave a single nod before moving forward and getting into the carriage.
It was a cramped and suffocating space inside the carriage. Other inmates sat on benches opposite each other, pressed closely together like sardines.
After they had checked in the last inmate, they slammed the doors shut with a violent thud. A metallic shriek signaled the carriage's sudden movement.
They moved past the gate, and within a few minutes, the prison yard disappeared slowly behind them.
For the first time in his life, Irin saw the outside world.
Beyond the narrow-barred windows, all he could see was a vast land that stretched far beyond, with everything covered in snow. Mountains appeared in the distance with their peaks almost reaching the sky. Snowflakes crystallized on all the pine trees lining the road.
It was beautiful. And the realization unsettled him.
This… this was what Barak had spoken of?
Barak's stories had always painted the outside world as cruel and filled with as many monstrosities as one could ever imagine.
But this quiet, frozen beauty felt nothing like that.
And for a moment, Irin forgot the pain of the cuffs biting into his wrists.
However, such a beautiful moment was short-lived when the carriage slammed into a pothole.
The violent impact sent shockwaves through the carriage. Prisoners cried out as bodies reeled forward. Several men lost their footing entirely and crashed to the floor.
"Excellent. I have unlocked a new core memory," someone cursed as his head hit the edge of the bench.
Irin staggered but stayed upright, bracing himself against the side of the carriage.
It was at that point that he spotted them. Across the carriage, clustered together, were the four boys. They were watching him all this time with open hostility.
Deliberately breaking eye contact, Irin turned away and shifted closer to the other inmates, pressing himself into the tight cluster of bodies to keep his body warm. No one complained as the men pressed their bodies against each other.
They gave no protective cloaks for weather like this. The prison did not invest in comfort for those it barely considered human.
Warmth, like every other thing, was something the prisoners learnt to ration among themselves.
Eventually, after an hour and a half, the carriage slowed down. The carriage stopped at the coal mine's entrance, releasing steam with a shrill hiss.
The entrance was a huge, black hole at the foot of a mountain, bordered by wooden beams, with tracks that disappeared into it. Snow did not touch the ground near the entrance. For coal dust had stained it permanently black.
"Out! Move!" the guards shouted.
Guards forced prisoners down from the carriage one by one. As Irin stepped down, a man ahead of him staggered.
The prisoner suddenly leaned over and heaved a massive amount of vomit onto the snow, gagging intensely until his body trembled.
"I-I'm sick," the man gasped. "I can't-"
A guard strode forward with a flat expression.
"Liar," he said. "You're scared. You want to fake being sick. Your trick won't work on me."
The man vomited again, splattering the ground with yellow, slimy fluid. "Please-please, I-"
The guard whipped the man hard with his baton three good times.
The sound of the guard's baton hitting the inmate's flesh echoed horribly. The man collapsed and was barely conscious.
Without mercy, the guard turned to the rest of the prisoners. "This happens when you fake illness. Take note."
The prisoners nodded frantically. They dragged the beaten inmate to his feet and shoved him toward the mine.
In reality, the prisoner was unwell, a fact the guard knew rightfully well but ignored.
They entered the deepest part of the mine because others had mined the outer parts for years. Coal-powered mechanical lamps on the walls were the sole light source in the mine.
After they handed out axes and baskets, the inmates began working.
Irin took his tools and commenced the extraction. He swung the axe with force and struck the coal seam. The impact shook his arms painfully.
"Irin." The voice came from behind.
He turned only to see the same group of boys that had landed him in this mess standing behind him again.
'Don't they get tired?' Irin thought in frustration.
Darek, the tallest among the group of four boys, stood there with an axe resting against his shoulder. The others fanned out subtly, creating a loose semicircle that trapped Irin with no room for escape.
"Thought we'd talk," Darek said. "Let's figure things out."
Irin looked directly at him.
"Funny," Irin said. "I thought the beatings from the guards instilled a brain cell or two in you. Turns out I was wrong."
Darek smirked. "You sniveling tongue are good with words. That's what got us beaten."
"It was hunger and a series of poor choices that got your ass smacked," Irin replied coolly.
A boy reacted with annoyance. "Watch your mouth."
"Or what?" Irin asked quietly. "And prove me right again?"
Darek laughed. "Your Barak-"
"And what about him?" Irin asked.
A cruel, triumphant smile spread across Darek's face.
"I heard he's in a vegetative state. Poison works wonders when you apply the right dosage."
"Ah, I remembered," Darek tapped his head before he continued, "I pretended to fall sick in the dining hall when I sat beside him. And out of mercy, he rushed out quickly to call the doctor. That was enough time for us to sprinkle the poison like a chef seasoning a meal."
The others stiffened.
"Shut up, Darek," one muttered. "Your loose mouth has exposed us."
Darek silenced him with a glare.
"Not like I care. What's he going to do? He can't prove we did it."
"Why Barak?" Irin asked, and none of them answered him.
Barak had done nothing to them. That truth stood like an immovable pillar in Irin's mind.
So why?
One boy stepped forward. He was not the tallest, nor the strongest. He did not look brave. His hands trembled slightly, as if fear made him scared to speak.
"Why?" Irin shouted.
The boy swallowed. "The way he cared for you…"
The others nodded in agreement.
"He gave you his ration," the boy continued, "when he didn't have to, yet he did so."
"I don't care if you call it envy, hatred, or jealousy. All we could think was how unfair it was."
Irin opened his mouth, ready to say something. But the boy still had more to say.
"You don't understand," the boy said.
For the first time, the boy uttered words in a sobbing tone.
"You don't know what it's like to grow up invisible. To cry so often that even you get tired of hearing yourself. To learn early on that love is something other people experience freely while we learn how to survive without it."
Another boy stepped forward and said in a bitter voice.
"If we had been shown a bit more care, a gentle touch of kindness, and an embracing hand that never neglected us, perhaps we wouldn't have resorted to stealing before we learned to read. Maybe we wouldn't have mistaken violence for strength and cruelty for control. Maybe we wouldn't be here."
"So you poisoned him?" Irin asked with disgust.
The boy met his gaze. "We didn't want him dead."
LIES…
"We just wanted him to stop." Darek corrected. "To stop reminding us. Stop showing us what we never had.
That was when Irin understood something terrifying. For all these stemmed from years of neglect.
Neglect teaches a person something long before the world ever does. It teaches them that they are optional.
A neglected person does not grow up believing they are unloved. That would be too simple. Too merciful. They grow up believing love exists, just not for them.
It teaches them to observe others receiving things they lacked. To observe affection the way a starving man watches food being eaten across from someone across from him. Close enough to see every detail. But too far to touch.
They learn to ration their emotions the way prisoners ration food. To swallow their needs before anyone can reject them for having needs at all.
Neglect raises a person who mistakes attention for affection, violence for recognition, and control for safety. No one was there to offer guidance, so they never learned how to choose right. Only the lucky few manage to get through.
And when, at last, they encounter genuine kindness… when love finally stands before them; it terrifies them.
—
"You must pay for what you did," Irin exploded in anger.
"Pay?" Darek laughed. "It seems you don't quite understand the situation you're in."
With the others blocking the exits, Darek moved closer to Irin.
Darek checked to make sure no one was watching, then lifted his axe to chop Irin's head off.
But then, the coal mine shook intensely, as if an earthquake had struck it.