[Main POV]
"This is the world you will never understand and you always fear what you don't understand" I remember, I heard this in a Batman movie I watched, I always loved Batman, maybe the reason I love him is because that he is not afraid, and fear is something that bothers me a lot. In addition to my love for Batman, I also feel a little jealous, and the reason I'm jealous is because I'm the complete opposite of Batman: I'm fearful.
All my life I've been afraid, I've been afraid of all things and in all situations, in fact I'm a fearful professional, and I've been practicing my fear since I was little. Because of my fear, when I was just a child, I saw my mother suffering domestic abuse without being able to do anything, in fact, it was not like that, I could have done something, I could have called the police, asked for help from an adult, I just needed to tell someone, but I didn't, and the reason for that is because I was afraid of suffering the same way she was.
At that time I did nothing, and because I did nothing, I also became a victim like my mother. We were both beaten day and night by my father, but for fear of suffering even more, at his hands, I remained silent.
And it was in silence, that I grew up, and soon I arrived at school, a place that I also felt very afraid. At school there were people, and until now, I only suffered at their hands, so I could never trust the people at school.
Because of my fear I avoided making friends. I Thought maybe one of them could hurt me like my father did. And so, I fed my fear even more.
One day, things went beyond reasonable limits at my house. My dad, a drunk gambler, had a bad day, lost a few bucks and so he was stressed, and when he gets that way, he liked to beat us up to relieve the stress.
That day he preferred to hit my mother. I knew he was very stressed, so I locked myself in my room and waited for him to finish doing what he always did, meanwhile, I hoped I wouldn't be next. I just didn't want to suffer, I was afraid, and it was because of my fear that I didn't do anything, even after listening to my father beating my mother for hours and hours, he only stopped beating her when she finally stopped screaming in pain.
She hadn't stopped screaming, because she'd gotten used to the pain or something, but because she'd just had a heart attack, brought on by the strain of the beating.
It was on that day that, out of fear, I lost the only person who loved me in this world. My father ran away and I finally got rid of him, but at what cost? In the end I knew I was as guilty as he was for her death. My fear killed her.
Because of my fear, I couldn't go to her wake. And since she had no one but me, she was buried without a proper farewell. Meanwhile, I was wailing and torturing myself at home.
After a few months, I finally let go of some guilt, tried to enjoy the false sense of being free I felt after my dad left, but actually, I wasn't free. As long as the fear stayed with me, I would never truly be free.
And so fear continues to follow me. Because of my fear I couldn't get a job. Because of my fear I never got a girlfriend. Because of my fear I lost my house and ended up on the streets.
And it was on the streets that I lived a good part of my life. I lived like a mouse that I always was, better saying, I lived like a simple and fearful mouse. I ate the rest of everyone, and was humiliated by everyone.
I was wandering around, and looking for shelter, and ways to try to stay alive for years.
Today is my 30th birthday. Of these 30 years I've been living on the street for almost 10 years. During these years, I went through almost all kinds of situations, but today, different from ordinary days, definitely seemed to be a good day, the shelter I went to sometimes, knowing that my birthday was coming, prepared a small cake for me. So I could celebrate.
It was small, and I knew it must have cost a few dollars to make, but it was very symbolic, this was the first birthday cake I got in my life, and it reminded me of my mom, she always tried to buy some gift or even a cake for me on my birthdays, but my dad thought it was a waste of money.
And that's why he always took the money and went to a store to buy more drinks.
With the small cake in my hands, I went towards the place where I used to stay with other homeless people who were my friends. Here on the streets the idea of sharing is totally stupid, we barely have enough for ourselves, imagine sharing with others, but today I was very happy, I wanted to be able to share this little cake with the only people who stayed with me during these years.
My plans got messed up. Some young teenagers surrounded me, and stole my cake and my last 2 bucks I had. They said they were recording a video for YouTube. This situation came in and kept echoing in my head.
They were well dressed, wearing high quality and very expensive clothes, but still they stole from me, they stole from me who had nothing. Why did they do this?
I wondered for a while until I got to where I am now, at this bus stop. Why is everything in the world like this?
All my life, all I've had and gone through has been pain, just pain and nothing more. And that's why I started writing this. All my life I've only been hostage to fear, I don't want to continue going through this same situation.
I, Richard, gave up on this world.
Those were the last words written in my letter. As I had no one to give it to, I just take a stone and put on top of my paper, my intention was that the next one who sat here at the bus stop could read what I wrote.
I wish someone knew at least my name, and a little bit of my history, before I take what may be the last thing I'll ever do in my life.
After the letter is fully prepared and ready, I get up from the bus stop, wait until a bus speeds past, when I finally have the only act of courage I've ever had in my entire life: After thinking about it, I finally jump in front of the bus.
I know this is not the best way, but for a mouse like me, who has suffered all kinds of adversity during my life, this was the only way I found to escape everything, only death can set me free at that moment.
In the city of Toronto Canada, tragedy happens. Not really, for your death to be considered a tragedy, you need to have money or status, which the young man who just jumped in front of a bus did not have, the young man who died today he was just another homeless person. Nobody cared about his death.
Little Richard, who lived a lifetime of pain and suffering, didn't even have the opportunity to have a funeral. In the end he was buried like any other pauper. Little did everyone know that Richard was much more alive elsewhere at the moment, and that he would never again be just a small, fearful young man.
Richard would be something more, something far greater than he ever thought he could be.