Elelliana tried to lift her head. Her eyes looked glassy. Tears rolled down her cheeks and mixed with the dirt.
“Please,” she begged again, voice trembling. “My baby… I can’t breathe.”
Her fingers reached out, shaking in the air, searching for help.
But the circle only tightened.
A teenage boy laughed and mimicked her. “Help me! Help me!”
A lady snapped pictures with her phone, smiling like it was entertainment.
Elelliana’s stomach twisted again. This one was worse.
Her back arched and her mouth opened in a silent scream before sound finally came out.
“Jesus!” someone shouted—yet nobody moved.
Elelliana’s eyes began to close. Her head dropped back on the tiles. Her lips turned pale.
And in that moment—right when it looked like she was slipping away—a voice cut through the crowd like a whip.
“Move.”
People turned sharply.
A man pushed into the circle, rough and fast, like he was fighting a storm.
He was homeless.
His ash T-shirt was torn and stained with mud. His hair was overgrown and messy. His beard was tangled. His slippers looked like they could break any second.
But his eyes—his eyes were alive. Urgent. Focused. Serious.
“Una get mind,” he said, breathing hard. “You are standing here laughing while she is dying.”
One woman waved her hand. “I beg. Leave it. She is pretending. If you touch her, you will enter trouble.”
The homeless man didn’t even answer her.
