He started to walk alongside the wall, without a stable support he wasn't able to walk or even move his legs, and even so he moved at a snail pace. His vision was fussy, what were once small defined shapes, now were big and blurry, this one for example looked like a triangle. It was a staircase with seven steps. Seven long steps.

He paused for a few seconds before trying to raise his leg on the first step. Very slowly. At half the height of the step, the pain became unbearable. He couldn’t simply push beyond it.

It was at that moment that he realized how handicaped people view staircases.

The corridor ended there. There was no variation, no other route, no staff to aid him, no colleagues to cheer him.

He was alone.

Those would be seven steps of hell.

It was nearly as painful as having his skull penetrated by the wires. One foot at a time, the flesh of his legs was decomposing, revealing the fractured bone underneath. He cried, he yelled, all to no avail. He paused and realized that the stairs were becoming more and more slippery from all the blood that he spilled; he was bleeding to death and quickly.

He lost his equilibrium. The fall was hard. He stood there in a corner, crying over his poor destiny. He had survived all of this and he would die because of a staircase. He had just a few hours before dying of bleeding maybe even less.

....

He stood up at best as he could “I never letted myself be commanded by fate and I will not be commanded by it now!” with all the strength left in his body he slowly walked again to the staircase.

>he told to himself <> a wild scream came out of its mouth when its bone touched the little step, his flesh was torn, decomposing and to make it worse he was close to water. Salty water. He felt like one of those pilgrims of ancient times, crossing mountains and deserts with nothing but faith and determination. This was hell, the salt was burning all of its wounds. Atleast he wouldn't die of infection.

“Just five more steps” its flesh was tearing away. Just four more, he stank of dead and trash. Just three more, he had to stop.

He was at the limit of his physical endurance, if he made another step he would have blacked out, or worse, slipped and fell. He looked at the staircase wondering if he trow himself if he could make those three steps just using his hands. If he moved he suffered, and if he fell he didn’t know if he would have been able to stand up, let alone arriving again here.

Several minutes passed, Pxan took another step, this one was a little harder than the other. He told himself that he would make the last two steps all in one go so as not to lose any more time.

He rushed.

The pain nearly paralyzed him. He was about to slip, he sought the support of the wall; his hands made a strange sound, the wall supported his weight. His hands were in horrible conditions too.

He saw that the tunnel had a sharp curve at the end of the staircases, he could use its hands as a lever to make the last step easier.

For the last time, he raised his leg and made another step.

He was completely exhausted and nearly dead but happy. He looked back at the steps and so how little distance he had travelled, barely seven steps. But he felt changed...somehow he felt changed.