My childhood was a purgatory without walls.
When I was three years old, the first word I learned wasn't "mom", it was the scream of metal breaking through the wind. That was not punishment, but domestication—the tremor carved into my bones became my mother tongue for understanding the world.
When I was five years old, I was stepped on and curled up in my shadow because I licked a mouthful of leftover soup. My father chewed quietly, and my knuckles made a wail on the soles of my shoes that only I could hear. At that moment I had an epiphany: hunger is not a sin, living is the sin I must atone for.
At eight years old, second place was my original sin. The sound of the certificate breaking was like a butterfly breaking. My hair was grabbed and my forehead hit the cold wall. The splinter pierced his knee, and he told me: If it's not cruel enough, I'll die. That day I understood that in his eyes, my hard work was never a medal, but a disobedience that needed to be repeatedly crushed into dust.
For more than ten years, I was like a proton pledged to purgatory, and my lungs were filled with humble dust.
Until that day, Proton no longer waits for redemption. He wiped the blood and rust from the corner of his mouth and decided to become the knife bearer himself.
Purpose: Help more people come out while transmitting correct values