To exist in the world without solace is akin to standing in the center of a vast room, bereft of any support. The walls loom oppressively, casting long shadows that shroud one in darkness. The floor beneath one's feet is cold and unforgiving, and the air is thick with the weight of solitude.
As I sat pinned to the ground, my hand pierced by the damned stick, I listened in disbelief to the young man's indifferent words. How could this frail old man, with his sagging skin and weary bones, lift such a weight?
Did he rely solely on his physical strength? Or was there some hidden secret, a wellspring of power unknown to me? I struggled and strained, but the stick remained immovable. My hand began to throb, and the weight grew heavier with each passing moment.
