The rain does not stop. It hammers the tin roof of the factory dormitory. You are twelve. You are wet. The water runs down your neck. It feels like ice. It feels like blood. You do not shiver. You cannot shiver. Your body has forgotten how. You sit on the edge of the cot. Your mother sits in the corner. She is silent. Her hands are still. They are folded in her lap. They look dead. They look like dried roots.

You look at your hands. They are small. They are dirty. The nails are black. You remember the fence. You remember the wire. You remember the sound. It was a sound like tearing cloth. It was a sound like a scream. It was a sound that will never leave your ears. You closed your eyes. You did not scream. You thought you were brave. You thought you were strong. You were wrong. You were a child. You were a witness.

The door opens. Thomas walks in. He is your father. He is tall. He is grey. He wears his coat. It is soaked. He does not look at you. He looks at the floor. He looks at your mother. He takes off his boots. He places them by the door. He sits on the chair. He does not speak. The silence is heavy. It presses against your chest. It is hard to breathe. The air is thick. It smells of rain. It smells of smoke. It smells of fear.

Thomas picks up a cup. The cup is chipped. The coffee is cold. He drinks. He spits it out. He puts the cup down. He looks at you. His eyes are empty. They are hollow. They are pits. You want to run. You want to hide. You want to be anywhere else. But you do not move. You are frozen. You are a statue. You are a ghost.

Why did you not speak? You ask yourself. Why did you not tell him? You saw the man. You saw the gun. You saw the blood. You saw the face. You know the face. It is your face. It is the face of the enemy. It is the face of the stranger. It is the face of the truth. You kept it inside. You locked it in your throat. You swallowed it. You buried it. You thought it would keep you safe. You were wrong.

Thomas stands up. He walks to the window. He looks out. The rain blurs the glass. The streetlights are orange. They look like eyes. They watch you. They judge you. You feel their gaze. It burns your skin. You flinch. You pull your knees up. You wrap your arms around them. You make yourself small. You make yourself invisible.

Thomas turns around. He sees you. He sees your fear. He sees your shame. He sees your guilt. He does not speak. He just looks. The look is sharp. It cuts you. It slices through your skin. It goes to your bone. You feel cold. You feel sick. You feel dirty. You are dirty. You are tainted. You are broken.

Your mother moves. She stands up. She walks to Thomas. She touches his arm. Her hand is light. It is a feather. It is a whisper. She says nothing. She does not need to. Her touch is enough. It is a promise. It is a lie. It is a shield. Thomas looks at her. He nods. He sits down again. He puts his head in his hands. He does not weep. He does not cry. He just sits. He waits.

You look at the floor. You see a crack. It runs through the wood. It is long. It is deep. It looks like a wound. It looks like a scar. It looks like a path. You follow it with your eyes. It goes to the door. It goes to the outside. It goes to the world. The world is dark. The world is wet. The world is cruel. You want to go there. You want to leave. You want to escape. But you cannot. You are trapped. You are in the house. You are in the family. You are in the secret.

The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is loud. It is relentless. It counts the seconds. It counts the minutes. It counts the hours. It counts the days. It counts the years. It will count your life. It will count your death. You hate the clock. You hate the time. You hate the waiting. You hate the silence. You want to scream. You want to shout. You want to tell them. You want to say it. You want to let it out. But you do not. You stay quiet. You stay still. You stay inside.

Thomas speaks. His voice is low. It is rough. It is broken. He says your name. He says it once. He says it slowly. He says it softly. He says it with care. He says it with pain. You look up. You meet his eyes. They are not empty now. They are full. They are full of water. They are full of sorrow. They are full of love. It is a terrible love. It is a heavy love. It is a love that hurts.

You open your mouth. No sound comes out. Your throat is tight. Your tongue is heavy. Your words are stones. They sit in your chest. They are too heavy to lift. You try to push them out. You push with your will. You push with your fear. You push with your shame. They do not move. They stay there. They stay inside. They stay buried.

Thomas stands up again. He walks to you. He kneels down. He is on one knee. He is in front of you. He looks at you. He sees your face. He sees your eyes. He sees your soul. He reaches out. He touches your cheek. His hand is warm. It is dry. It is real. It is the only real thing. You feel the heat. You feel the touch. You feel the connection. You want to break. You want to shatter. You want to fall apart. You want to be free.

He does not ask. He does not demand. He does not accuse. He just touches you. He holds your face. He holds your eyes. He holds your secret. He holds your pain. He holds your guilt. He holds your fear. He holds your shame. He holds it all. He carries it. He lifts it. He takes it from you. He takes the weight. He takes the burden. He takes the stone.

You feel it leave. You feel it move. You feel it go. It moves from your chest. It moves to his hands. It moves to his heart. He takes it. He accepts it. He accepts the truth. He accepts the lie. He accepts the past. He accepts the present. He accepts the future. He accepts you. He accepts your silence. He accepts your fear. He accepts your shame. He accepts your guilt.

You cry. You do not know when you started. You just cry. Your face is wet. Your body shakes. Your breath is fast. Your heart is loud. You cry for the man. You cry for the wire. You cry for the sound. You cry for the fence. You cry for the rain. You cry for the cold. You cry for the dark. You cry for the silence. You cry for the years. You cry for the loss. You cry for the life. You cry for the self.

Thomas holds you. He holds you tight. He holds you close. He holds you safe. He holds you whole. He does not let go. He does not let go. He does not let go. The rain stops. The sky is grey. The light is pale. The light is white. The light is clear. The light is new. The light is clean. The light is free.

You look at him. You look at his face. You see the lines. You see the wrinkles. You see the age. You see the wear. You see the cost. You see the price. You see the love. It is not perfect. It is not easy. It is not light. It is heavy. It is hard. It is real. It is true. It is yours. It is his. It is ours.

The crack in the floor is still there. It is still long. It is still deep. It is still a wound. It is still a scar. But it is not a path. It is not a way out. It is a mark. It is a memory. It is a reminder. It is a lesson. It is a truth. You look at it. You see it. You accept it. You leave it. You let it be.

Thomas stands up. He walks to the door. He opens it. The air comes in. It is cold. It is fresh. It is clean. It is alive. He steps out. He steps into the rain. He steps into the world. He steps into the life. He does not look back. He does not need to. You are there. You are safe. You are free.

You stay on the cot. You look at the door. You look at the frame. You look at the space. The space is empty. The space is full. The space is open. The space is wide. The space is yours. You sit up. You stand up. You walk to the door. You open it. You step out. You step into the rain. You step into the cold. You step into the dark. You step into the light.

The rain hits your face. It is cold. It is wet. It is clean. It washes you. It washes you clean. It washes you free. It washes you whole. You do not shiver. You do not cry. You do not speak. You do not run. You walk. You walk down the street. You walk past the lights. You walk past the shops. You walk past the people. You walk to the end. You walk to the edge. You walk to the water.

The water is black. The water is deep. The water is still. The water is quiet. The water is waiting. The water is patient. The water is kind. The water is cruel. The water is true. You stand at the edge. You look down. You see your face. You see your eyes. You see your soul. You see the truth. You see the lie. You see the past. You see the present. You see the future. You see the end.

You do not jump. You do not fall. You do not drown. You do not die. You turn around. You walk back. You walk to the house. You walk to the door. You walk to the room. You walk to the cot. You sit down. You close your eyes. You breathe in. You breathe out. You breathe life. You breathe hope. You breathe love. You breathe trust. You breathe peace.

The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is quiet. It is gentle. It is kind. It is slow. It is soft. It is sweet. It is real. It is true. It is yours. You sleep. You dream. You dream of rain. You dream of light. You dream of love. You dream of life. You dream of home. You dream of peace. You dream of trust. You dream of truth. You dream of freedom. You dream of self. You dream of whole.

The morning comes. The sun rises. The sun is gold. The sun is warm. The sun is bright. The sun is new. The sun is clean. The sun is free. The sun is life. The sun is love. The sun is trust. The sun is truth. The sun is peace. The sun is whole. The sun is you. The sun is me. The sun is us. The sun is all. The sun is everything. The sun is nothing. The sun is silence. The sun is sound. The sun is word. The sun is breath. The sun is heart. The sun is soul. The sun is spirit. The sun is ghost. The sun is memory. The sun is future. The sun is past. The sun is present. The sun is now. The sun is here. The sun is now.