I had a daughter.

I didn't have a very good relationship with my dad. He almost killed me once in one of his fits. Apparently, I wasn't the daughter he had hoped for. And mother only ever looked on. But I loved my Nona. She was what kept me going. But when she died, I left.

Not that easily. And even now, crossing the borders isn't something I want to think back on. I was 16.

I left. I made it. It cost me a lot, a lot more than money. And I still find myself looking over my shoulder. The paranoia will never leave, I know. And things weren't all that great on the other side of the border, either.

Of course, I had to find myself a man that would beat me, use me, repeating the same old pattern. So I ran. I was too young, too inexperienced, too ambitious and all on my own.

I repeated the same mistakes countless times. Always running away. Not always from failed relationships, sometimes from jobs, illegal and often dangerous, of course. I had no visa, no working permit, and no records.

I made so many mistakes. And the last time that I ran, I hadn't been alone.

I wanted to be the perfect parent. Do everything right. Be perfect. Maybe that's why I gave her too many liberties; let her do as she pleased. She was my little angel. I didn't spoil her rotten. My baby was pure and innocent. And way too good for a failure of a parent like me. A failure of a human being. But when she looked at me with those pleading eyes of hers, I just couldn't say no.

It was during the riots. I had let her play in a nearby park. I was doing some housework and preparing lunch. I still remember every moment of that day. It's burnt into my eyes. It haunts me every waking moment. I could see her playing through the kitchen window from up above.

We had underestimated the riots. We all had. Things had gotten worse. The world had begun to change. But life still continued. I was still fighting to give us a better life. To give her a better life. I couldn't think much further than that. We were fighting for our survival, barely getting by.

She was everything to me, my number one. She had made my life worth living. She was why I had kept struggling. She was my reason to live. I had no reason to keep going, no interest in life or in a future without her.

It had only taken a split second. She had been smiling and waving at me from down below, and I had waved back. I had turned my gaze back at the pot. And that was it. The last time that I saw her. Then there were explosions everywhere, and the whole city turned into a sea of fire. It had only taken a second for everything to end. The riots were over. They had turned into a war. And us few survivors, we just stared into the ruins. We, too, had been lost to the war. We were already dead inside.

And then, one day, I woke up in a strange place. Everything was a shade of grey. The sky, the buildings, the ground, the air itself. It was scary. It was unnatural. Like there was no time. I was still surrounded by countless ruins. Destroyed buildings and broken pavement, but it wasn't the same city. It looked like it, but everything was kind of off. Like someone had tried to create a copy but didn't have the right material. I was frightened. And there were others just as frightened. And then it began. Strange monsters right out of a horror movie began to attack us. And we all ran. None of us had been up for a fight.

We were the walking dead. What was there still to fight for? But we all agreed on one thing: We didn't want it to end like this. Unable to decide our own ending, being mercilessly ripped to pieces. That kind of ending is just unfair! We had gone through so much! Why would we have to end like this? Was there any point in our suffering? And then, someone suggested it: If we can't survive in this world, if we don't want to survive, then we should end it altogether, all together. Not in the taking a last stance sense. After all, there was no fight within us. We would just quietly lay ourselves to rest and end our suffering. It hurt. It really hurt. But staying alive, fighting to survive in a place like this? That idea hurt much more!

And so we began our funeral procession. Armed with makeshift shovels, we started walking through the ruined city, looking for a place soft enough to dig our own graves. It really is a poetic ending, like walking into a lake to drown yourself. And maybe all our life decisions up until now were really just us digging our own graves.

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And so we marched to our deaths, passing through a grey world.

Yellow. And at the side of the road, we passed a yellow shape. A girl. That girl was the only colourful dot I had seen since arriving in this grey world. She had moved to the side and looked at us. Her eyes were just as dead as ours. But she hadn't joined us but turned her back instead and disappeared into the hazy grey. Maybe there's still something keeping her alive, a hope she's still clinging to? I couldn't even begin to imagine what reason anyone could have to stay alive in a place like this. What reason did we ever have? My baby girl. It hurts. I hope sleep will take me soon.

We had seen signs of others on our way here and sometimes distantly heard noise. There are others here. Others actually try to live in this world. But what for? The thought alone frightens me. I hope sleep will take me soon.

We didn't dig six feet deep, though we all tried to dig deep enough to be unable to crawl out on a whim. Someone had suggested that. I don't remember who it was. Just in case someone started panicking. Death was the right choice, is the right choice. And we'd never make it alone either way. So it's best we all die together. That's what someone else had said. I think we dug for a long time, though I couldn't say. That's one of those unnatural things about this place. Time moves so arbitrarily. It could be that we've been walking for days, but it just as well could have been only a couple of hours, even minutes. It's scary, this feeling, this absence of time. It's much more terrifying than I could have ever imagined.

And the digging, I know we failed a few times, hitting hard ground too soon and staring over, but how long it really took, I couldn't tell. But this waiting. How long will it take until I fall asleep and won't wake up? Will I dehydrate? Or will some monsters find me before? My mind doesn't stand still even if I can't keep track of time. Will I have to lie here in the ground, having these thoughts till I die? Won't I go mad first? Whoever suggested it was right. I'm already starting to panic. Will this feeling go on until I'm dead? It will get even worse, won't it? There's no way that I'll manage to hold on. But I can't crawl out of my grave, either. And what would be the point, anyway? I can't survive in this world. I don't want to survive. I have no reason to live. My baby girl! Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why did my baby girl have to die?! Why did this have to happen to us?! Why did this have to happen to me?! Why do bad things always have to happen to me?! Can't there be anything good, just once?! My baby girl! She was just a little child, for fucks sake! She'd done nothing wrong! Why God, why? Why did you have to punish her? Why couldn't you punish me? Did you? Is this my punishment for always making mistakes, always running away? Was I that bad? Was it that bad of me to want to be free? Is this hell? That's it, isn't it! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

I know. I know this isn't hell. My baby girl's not up in heaven, either. I've seen enough in my life to know there's no God punishing evil and rewarding good. We're all just crawling through this shithole we call life while we hurt each other as much as we can. My baby girl died! Not for a greater reason. Not to punish her or me. Just for human greed. They're all greedy, greedy bastards. All of them! My father, the people of my country, the people of the nation I ran away to, all just want to take, take, take, making empty promises all the way. Just to get as much as they can. I've been used my whole life! And I couldn't even save that of my own child! I couldn't protect her.

There's no kind God watching over us, as my Nona said. There's nothing. Only emptiness. I hate it. I hate life.

Sniff

I turn my head. A sudden sound pierces my thoughts like a sunbeam pierces the clouds. Is there someone crying?

Sniff, sniff, sniff

The sound comes closer.

What's going on? We're all lying in our own graves, so who could be walking around crying?

Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.

The sound is very close now. It feels like I could reach it if I stretch my arm. But the plank is in the way. And what would be the point?

Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.

It sounds like someone is repressing their crying, but I can still hear them very clearly. It sounds like a child crying, like a child that lost its way.

And after a while, the crying stops. Instead, I hear a rustling sound right above me, and then I see light. Yellow, a colourful dot in a grey world, stares right at me. A little girl that has lost her way looks at me pleadingly. She looks like she's just about to start crying. Again.

And in contrast to her pitiful look, the girl says in a frighteningly cheerful voice:

"Hello there! Fancy meeting such a beautiful lady in a triste place like this. How about it? Wanna hang with me? You can think of it as a slight detour before the inevitable death. And who knows? It might even be fun!"

Those pleading eyes, I could never say no to them.