In front of the center's entrance, cold winds lashed against my face. They did not carry the chill of winter alone… they carried the metallic scent of blood that still lingered in the air.
I cast a glance to my left, where a small pool of blood shifted with the rush of the wind.
I refused to remain there any longer. Dragging my gelatinous legs toward the road, I hailed a taxi to take me home as quickly as possible. Despite the state my body was in, my fog-drowned mind could not fully grasp what had just happened. The moment I sank into the taxi seat, I slackened—as if my battery had completely drained.
*What just happened?!*
My mind, submerged in the depths of a swamp, began to surface, replaying the memories of the past few minutes.
I had entered the group carrying hope—bearing the emotions of a righteous role model offering help to the needy. Yet we left carrying something far heavier: madness. You could see the mark of the meeting etched across the square, distorted, exhausted features of the supervisor. It had been a failed meeting by every measure—two extraterrestrial beings of hatred preaching death to those seated right and left.
The moment I hurried out of that insane place and placed my hand on the cold door handle—
"Miss Maryam, could you spare me a moment?"
A hand gripped the handle along with mine, refusing to let go.
'Say no!' I wanted to refuse. I truly did.
"…Alright."
I followed the supervisor out of the corridor that twisted like the belly of a serpent—white, swallowing my thoughts, which had barely emerged in the first place.
'Why isn't he speaking?!' He was the one who stopped me in the first place, and now he walked in complete silence.
"Miss, I wanted to speak with you about the young man earlier. His condition had been stable. He was improving gradually… slowly. We wanted to present him with your story so he would continue his treatment—so it would give him hope. But suddenly… his condition worsened to the point that he no longer communicated with us. Even so, we wanted to offer him hope… any thread of light, no matter how small. I apologize for involving you in this. And please, don't pay attention to what Madam Randa said. She is, as you know…"
'Yes! Crazy!' I had been that way once too. I wonder if he calls everyone mad behind their backs. Would he say the same about me? Though, to be fair, he wouldn't be wrong. The pendulum's head deserved it.
Just as I was about to respond, we heard screams erupt behind us—from the room we had left moments ago.
I turned toward the source of the shouting and commotion, only to see the young man with the foolish smile break free from the nurse who had been supporting him. Now he was running toward us.
'What is happening…?'
I could barely process it. My swamp-soaked mind failed to keep up with the unfolding scene. The patient rushed past us, shoving us aside. When I lifted my head from the floor, he had already reached the end of the corridor and flung open the window.
"Wait! Don't do it!" the supervisor screamed. He had fallen like I did and tried, for a fleeting second, to stop him—but it was too late.
He fell.
His body crashed into the depths of the building… from the fourth floor.
One moment he was here—
and in the blink of an eye, he was not.
It was hard to comprehend what had just happened. My gelatinous legs carried me toward the window where the supervisor stood, staring down with a distorted expression. Echoes of screams rose from the lower floors—cries for help that did not cease.
I leaned toward the opening to see the young man who had been sitting beside me only minutes ago… now mere centimeters away.
But a hand quickly covered my eyes in terror.
"Don't look!"
Was it truly that horrific—that he had to shield my sight so urgently?
Let me answer you.
Yes. It was.
The body lay like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Limbs twisted in impossible directions. It seemed he had fallen headfirst. His head—
Ah. Forget it.
I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight.
'Thank you, Dr. Issam.' I had come after almost recovering from a trauma… only to leave with one far worse.
When I caught my reflection in the taxi's rearview mirror, I found the driver's gaze following me.
'You're next.'
A cursed hiss trailed after me, as though the words had been stamped into my absent consciousness.
"Stop the car!"
"What? But we haven't reached your destination yet!"
"I'll walk the rest of the way. I said stop the car!"
I shouted in a warning tone. The driver gradually slowed down. I didn't wait for the car to fully halt. I thrust the fare into his hand and ran the rest of the way home.
'You're next!'
I couldn't get the words out of my head. My gaze darted right and left, unable to tell where danger might come from. Every face became a potential threat. Every shadow on the ground, a lurking beast.
All the way, I was running—fleeing from someone… or something—I did not know.
Even our house gate, once a warning against intruders, now felt like a warning of imminent death.
As I ran like a madwoman down the street, my swamp-drowned mind would not stop thinking:
Were the woman's words a coincidence…
or a fulfilled prophecy?
"Maryam, you're pale. What happened?"
My mother touched my face, from which all color had fled.
"Nothing. Nothing happened."
My voice trembled as I embraced her, begging for warmth. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her everything.
But I knew.
No one believes a madwoman.