Chapter 11: what the people saw

Umbra sat, immobile in the cold, darkened room. The chair to which he was bound seemed to absorb every ounce of the weight of his despair. His body was bruised and bloodied, but his mind was worse: shattered and cracked from the living nightmares he endured. The police continued their torment, with every blow and insult, each twisted moment a nail in the coffin of his soul.

He once had been a little boy, a child who was supposed to dream of hopes and a future. But now, here he was, crying in the dark as his heart was broken down with the weight of a world that did not care.

"Why am I still alive?" he whispered to himself, the question resounding in his fractured mind. His chest felt heavy with grief, and every breath was laborious. He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to feel the pain. He didn't want to exist in a world so cruel and unforgiving.