When We Were Monsters

The iron gates did not open. They screamed. A long, rusted shriek tore through the silence, as if the metal itself resented being forced apart—resented letting him go. He stepped out anyway. Slowly. Deliberately. As though the world beyond those gates might collapse if he moved too fast. The air hit him first. Cold. Not the sterile, lifeless cold of hospital corridors, but something raw—alive. It clawed at his skin, slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, settled into his bones like an unwelcome memory. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Five years. Five years of measured steps, of white walls and softer voices that never quite sounded real. Five years of people watching him like he was something fragile… or dangerous. Maybe both. Now there was no one watching. No one stopping him. No one telling him who he was supposed to be. His fingers curled slightly at his sides. Freedom felt… wrong. A man stood waiting by the car. Black suit. Straight posture. Eyes that refused to meet his for too long. A servant. Of course. “Sir,” the man said quietly, opening the car door. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted—past the road, past the trees that swayed like they had somewhere to be—toward something that wasn’t there. Or rather… Someone. A flicker of a memory pressed against the inside of his skull. A girl. A swing. The faint creak of chains moving back and forth in the wind. And eyes—wide, unafraid, and disturbingly curious. His chest tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to remind him that something inside him was still… incomplete. “I can walk,” he said at last. His voice was hoarse, unused. Like it belonged to someone else. The servant hesitated. “Your father instructed—” “I heard you.” A pause. Then softer, but colder— “I just don’t care.” The road stretched ahead, long and indifferent. He walked. Each step felt unfamiliar, like relearning something he had once known instinctively. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes. The wind brushed past his ears, carrying distant sounds—cars, voices, life. He ignored all of it. Because something else was louder. A memory that refused to stay buried. Blood. Not a lot at first. Just a thin line trailing down pale skin. He remembered staring at it, fascinated. Not horrified. Not scared. Just… curious. The boy had stopped moving. That was the part everyone else reacted to. But not him. He hadn’t been looking at the boy. He had been looking at her. “She didn’t mean to,” he had said. Even then, his voice had been calm. Too calm. “She just didn’t like what he did.” The adults had stared at him like he was the one who had done something wrong. Maybe he had. He had stepped forward. He had taken the blame. And when they asked why— He couldn’t answer. Because the truth sounded ridiculous, even in his own head. Because she looked like she would disappear if he didn’t. He stopped walking. The memory snapped, dissolving like smoke. His jaw tightened. That was a long time ago. Five years in a facility designed to fix what was “broken.” Five years of doctors asking the same questions. Why did you do it? Do you regret it? Do you understand what’s right and wrong? He had learned the correct answers. He had learned how to sound normal. That was enough to get him out. But it hadn’t changed the one thing that mattered. He still remembered her face. Perfectly. Every line. Every shadow. Every small, unsettling detail that made her feel less like a child and more like something… watching from behind one. He had drawn her. Again and again. On blank pages. On the backs of reports. Inside his mind when they took everything else away. She was the only face he could draw. The only one that ever came out right. The servant’s car crawled behind him at a careful distance. He ignored it. Just like he ignored the world. Because now that he was out… Now that no one was watching closely enough… There was only one thought that mattered. Where is she? His fingers flexed slowly, as if testing the weight of something invisible. A habit he never quite lost. A ghost of a motion. If she was still the same… If she still looked at the world the way she used to— Then nothing had really changed. Not for her. Not for him. A faint smile touched his lips. Not warm. Not kind. Just… certain. “I’ll find you,” he murmured under his breath. The wind carried the words away, but the promise remained. Heavy. Unavoidable. Inevitable. And somewhere, far from the quiet road and the watching car— A girl who loved birds stood beneath an open sky… unaware that the past had just begun to walk toward her again.