Allea

fourteen

"Hey, are you um... alright?"

I asked and cautiously approached the man, his face was on the other side, I could only see his back, tattered clothes, and his disheveled state.

"My car didn't hit you so whatever happens to you is not my concern."

When he didn't respond, I turned around to leave. Everything looks too sketchy for me to show my humanity. As I took a step away from him, I can feel his hands wrapping around my ankle as he grabbed them forcefully
In that instant, the self-defense I learned kicked in, and without giving him a moment I wiggled my foot out of his grasp and kicked him on the face.

When I turned to face the man staring at me with wide-eyes, his one hand holding his jaw where I kicked and the other his forehead which was bleeding. What startled me was how harmless he seemed, and looked young and quite handsome if not for the dirt on his face and ugly hair.

"Are you drunk? On drugs?" He didn't respond, just stared at me creepily.

Not wanting to deal with this, I once again turned to leave when his whisper reached my ears, "How was I so stupid...", more than his words, what stopped me was his tone -familiar hollowness, melancholy, and loneliness.

And that somehow infuriated me.

"If you want to die, go find someone else's car or some bridge, I don't care, stop wasting others' time."

Weren't you once like this? Why not help him? No one helped me, why should I?

Noticing the harshness in my voice, his eyes turned red and he looked at me angrily but I stood there without wincing, suddenly he stood up and yelled, "What do you know? He ruined my life that I worked hard for!"

My eyes held his angry-raging hazel ones.

I don't think I'm the right person to help him. He met the wrong person in his vulnerable state, I pity him but I'm of no use to him. Call it selfishness or whatever but a part of me doesn't want to help him, him standing in front made me think things I don't want, he reminds me of a self I hate I was.

I'm no one to say or do something for someone else.

I know what he's going through -I can see it in his eyes- that's why I don't' want to deal with this, "It's your life, do whatever you want, nothing of this concerns me."

Without giving him another look, I was once again ready to leave.

"Please help me..." His voice was barely above a whisper and I can feel that he was not particularly begging me for help, but just expressing his helplessness, hoping that someone may feel the plead in his voice and give him a hand.

And again I paused in my steps, a snicker left my lips as I turned around to face the man, way taller and built than me but pleading for help. Seeing me mocking at his state, the prior rage didn't return, he just stared at me with tears shining in his eyes -in which I could see hope slipping away and the flicker of life dimming.

If I left him here, he'll kill himself -that much I figured out. Because in moments like this, the burden of life seems way too heavy to carry than the pain of death.

"What do you want? Money?" He just stared at me with empty eyes as I continued, "How much, thousands, millions, or billions?"

He didn't respond, neither moving his eyes away from me nor showing any expressions -empty, blank.

"Tell me how much you want?" I took a step near him, my voice calm yet challenging, "What's the price of your life?"

These words made him flinch, and the tears that he held so strongly flowed down his face, and in the next moment, he fell on his knees, his head down but I still could hear his sobs. Crying out his failure, because he had no other way -at this moment, his life was nothing but as useless as what he was feeling, his life had no value, just like something that can be sold for money. But what's the point of such life, even if I helped him with money, will it be enough? No, the life he was ready to throw will be hard to attach value to, and no money can do this for him.