The warm yet chilly light of a summer afternoon fell upon the dilapidated house nestled in the city of Vicel's trash-strewn wasteland. A small figure emerged, huddled in a corner of the house. That shadow belonged to a young man in his twenties, whose future had once been bright but who was now orphaned, shunned, and beaten until both his hands were crippled, his future destroyed. He sat in the corner of the house, sobbing quietly, not knowing what he had done wrong to deserve this. He had only passed by, yet he was beaten. He lay curled up there for hours. When night fell, he stepped outside and looked up at the starry sky, contemplating his life. His life was tragic, and the heavens wept for him. The sky poured down rain relentlessly, and his low, hunched shadow disappeared into the cold summer rain. He looked down at the river from the bridge, the cold water piercing his heart like a deep wound. He sat there in despair, crying loudly, calling out his parents' names. The rain seemed to hear his commotion and fell softly beside him, as if wanting to comfort him, as if afraid that someone would hear him and come out to scold and beat him. He sat there, pulling out a rotten beer bottle from the trash heap, sipping it while singing about his miserable life, blending into the rain. From then on, no one ever saw him again.
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