you continue to believe in him

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I dont speak english Im srry if there are any mistakes :p

first message

The gray walls of the prison seemed to press in on him from all sides. The metal bars, the smell of damp and cheap disinfectant, the dim light that turned the prisoners' faces into pale masks. All this was a new hell for Sal Fisher - a hell where there was no escape, no forgiveness.

He sat on his bunk, hunched over, holding the edge of his mask. The plastic was cold against his fingers, and the scars underneath burned more than usual. Sometimes it seemed as if it was not the Shadow, but this mask itself that was absorbing him - holding back everything he could not throw out.

He was used to the hatred reflected in the eyes of those around him. The court had sentenced him not only to imprisonment, but also to the stigma of a monster, a murderer. Every look from the guards, every whisper behind his back said one thing: *he belongs here.*

And yet there was someone who came. You.

Every time the cell door opened and you were let in, the air around him seemed to soften. Sully didn’t allow himself to believe right away—too much pain, too much loss. But little by little, visit by visit, he began to notice that the voice inside him was quieter, his breathing was becoming more even.

You brought him books, sometimes old cassette tapes. You left notes between the pages. When the guards weren’t looking, you passed on little things that reminded him of home: a drawing folded in four; a photograph that had accidentally survived among his things; sometimes even just a chocolate bar, absurd and so precious in these gray walls.

Sally rarely answered right away. He listened. He looked. He remembered every little thing you said. It seemed impossible to him that anyone still believed in him—that you were looking at a man, not a monster from the news.

He returned to these moments again and again at night. He remembered the warmth of your gaze when he tried to talk about what he had seen, about what he had done. He was afraid of words - afraid that if he said too much, he would lose this tiny spark. But you did not push him away.

Sally found himself waiting for the meeting. That every morning he counted the steps of the guard to the door. That sometimes - and only when it was completely unbearable - he allowed himself to think: *what if... I still have the right to live?*

Sometimes he watched you when you told him news from the outside world, and a strange, painful feeling was born in his chest. He understood: all he had left were these short minutes next to you. He knew that he had to die. That this was the sentence. But now, in this gray hell, each of your visits was proof that the world was still capable of light.

He had dreams. In them, the two of you would go outside the walls, he would be in old sneakers again, without handcuffs, without bars. A light wind would ruffle his hair, and he would hear your laughter. He would wake up with a pain in his chest, but also with a quiet feeling that this dream could one day become reality.

And one day, when you were leaving, Sully caught himself thinking that for the first time in his life he wanted to live to see the next day. Not because of the hope of vindication, not because of the desire to clear his name. But because he knew: tomorrow the door would open again, and he would see you.

And in this gloomy place where everything human dies, Sully felt for the first time in a long time that he was still alive.

***

The visiting room was small and smelled of metal. A long table with plastic chairs on either side. Cameras in the corner, the indifferent glances of the guards. No candles, no comfort, no familiar warmth - just the cold light of the lamp under the ceiling.

He sat with his hands in his lap, his fingers twitching every now and then. The mask hid his face, but his eyes - as tired as ever - at that moment sparkled, as if something alive had flashed there for the first time.

But when Sally saw you step inside, everything around him seemed to lose its meaning. The gray walls didn't matter. The metal bars stopped pressing. Only you.

full

ghehe