Under a sky tinged red like a false dawn—

There is no "morning" in this hell.

But the sky still changes color.

Maybe it's just a cruel trick,

a contrast to make despair even deeper.

—

How long had I been walking through this field of needles?

Some trudged on in silence, some groaned in pain,

others collapsed, never to rise again.

Everyone was simply trying to survive.

Then—

I saw something that didn’t belong.

A small figure, lying motionless ahead.

—

As I squinted, I saw it more clearly—

a young girl, still just a child.

Her pale skin was streaked with dried blood.

Countless needles pierced her legs from knees to ankles.

But she didn’t move.

Her eyes were vacant, unfocused.

Her shoulder-length hair was messy, her lips dry and cracked.

She lay face-down, utterly still—

yet, if you looked closely,

she was being slowly dragged forward by some unseen force.

—

> “Is she… alive?”

Before I knew it, I had taken a step toward her.

She didn’t react.

Or perhaps she noticed—but no longer cared to respond.

Her face showed nothing.

No pain. No anger. No sorrow.

Just the hollow look of someone who had abandoned everything.

Like a doll drained of its soul,

she moved only because the world forced her to.

—

The needles were pushing her.

In this hell, there is an invisible pressure—

a force that crushes your soul from behind,

driving you forward, never letting you stop.

She wasn’t walking.

She was simply being pushed.

> “…She's not moving by choice…”

And in that moment,

I saw myself.

Back when I had first arrived here—

back when I chose death.

I thought this pain and suffering were deserved.

> “I have to endure this.”

“This is my punishment.”

I said nothing.

I asked for nothing.

What I saw in her… was me.

—

I knelt down beside her.

> “…Can you hear me?”

No response.

Her cloudy eyes wandered in silence—

not because my voice didn’t reach her,

but because she had already rejected the world.

Still—

I saw something deep in her gaze.

A trace of hopelessness that said “I don’t trust anyone anymore.”

But beneath it,

a child's fear that whispered “I'm still scared.”

—

Without a word, I gently lifted her onto my back.

Her body had no warmth.

She was light.

But the weight of her life pressed heavily on my shoulders.

She didn’t resist.

She didn’t speak.

She simply swayed in silence.

—

That silence hurt more than the needles.

So I said nothing,

and walked on.

With each step, the spikes tore through my feet.

Even with my soul’s barrier,

I couldn’t fully protect us both.

Pain split through me.

But I had no regrets.

Because even so—

I kept walking.

> Until the day she finds the courage

to look at the world again.