My ink

Her heart seemed to want to break her chest.

She ran up the stairs, listening to the footsteps of her captors, pursued by the sound of their thick and heartless voices.

The air escaped in each step and while climbing that infinite tower, between the cracked holes in the walls, a red sky was drawn in the distance. That sky claimed she as if every second of life belonged to someone else.

As she climbed up those stairs, she saw red lines, like strings on a harp, in each opening of the concrete. Each step brought her closer to the end, to the farewell of that world full of hatred and blood.

She reached the terrace without air, without strength, but determined. The breeze hit her face but she didn't care.

She ran forward, toward the red sky, as red as the blood in her veins, as red as life, as red as the suicidal jump she understood was her only way out.

One step took her to that terrace, but a life full of suffering pushed her to use the ink of her blood to dye the sky.