Rightful

Living most of his life lying on the grey sidewalk, looking up into the blue sky, resembling possibilities and dreams, was more of a slap in the face than a motivational element. There was nothing he could do, although many claimed otherwise. Once all trust and motivation and hope had slipped down the drain among other bodily fluids, there was just this emptiness filling out the space. Emptiness that kept him from thinking.

Everyone was bringing bad news anyway. Their eyes revealed them all passing him by in a hurry, keeping their heads down. He had a point of view of their everyday that not even their therapists would ever be able to achieve. He had seen people walk down the street, worrying they will lose their homes when the mortgage market crashed. He felt utter pity and honest empathy; they had something to lose. Something valuable. That was when the epiphany hit him. He, indeed, had nothing to lose. He saw no value in his few belongings and worse; his own existence. He thought to himself, what if I ended it right here and now? And a wave of relief stroked him. He realized, what he had been holding on to all this time, was in fact nothing. His grip of emptiness, of the feeling of indifference, the very key factor of survival in his case, slipped. A wave of self-realization eventually, and finally, bashed him against the expensive, grey government building he had been taking shelter next to his entire twenty years on the street. A rightful ending at home. Suicide, they said.