Renzo sat on the edge of the cold, cracked stone, his legs dangling over the abyss. The moonlight cast an eerie glow across the desolate landscape before him, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside his mind. His breathing was shallow, each exhale heavy with the weight of years spent in a world that never felt like his own.
His hands trembled—not from the night's chill, but from the crushing despair that had eaten away at him for as long as he could remember. He was tired. Tired of the endless pain, the hollow existence, the relentless echoes of a home that had never felt like one.
"You're worthless."
The words sliced through his thoughts, his father's voice as sharp and cruel as ever. It had never faded, never left him—not even in the silence. The abuse, the neglect, the loneliness… it was all his fault. He had been a burden since the moment he was born. A mistake. A failure.
Renzo's memories flickered back to his early childhood—if you could even call it that. The streets had raised him, not the warmth of a loving family. Abandoned at a young age, he had learned early on that survival meant strength. His parents were ghosts in his life—his father absent and cruel, his mother distant and broken. Alone, Renzo was forced to fend for himself.
The first time he was beaten, he had no one to protect him. The first time he fought back, there was no one to celebrate his victory. He learned how to fight because it was the only way to protect himself, to stay alive. But it wasn't just physical strength that he built. The streets taught him cunning, survival instincts, and how to read people. Slowly, Renzo became stronger—not just in body, but in mind. He became someone others feared, someone others followed.
Years passed, and by the age of 20, Renzo had forged his place in the world. He was no longer just a survivor; he was a leader. He had risen to the top of the gang world, the strongest fighter, the most ruthless. He had outwitted, outlasted, and crushed anyone who had dared to challenge him. But despite his power, despite his accomplishments, Renzo's heart had grown colder, emptier. He had seen the worst of humanity and become part of it.
But the more he fought, the more he won, the less it mattered. The battles were endless—rival gangs, betrayals, bloodshed. Each victory left him feeling more hollow, more disillusioned. Renzo had learned everything the streets could teach him. He was the strongest in combat, the smartest in strategy, but it never brought him peace.
"I should have never been born."
His voice was barely audible over the howling wind, but the words were familiar, almost comforting. The thought had crossed his mind countless times, each time more desperate than the last. What was the point of all this? Fighting to survive, fighting to win, only to be left with nothing?
The final battle had been like so many others. Tensions had flared between factions, and it had escalated into another fight for dominance. But this time, it felt different. He felt… tired. Weary of the constant bloodshed, the constant struggle to maintain control. He had lost so much along the way—friends, allies, parts of himself—and yet, the war raged on. No matter how many times he won, it never ended. It was always the same.
He had fought hard and emerged victorious, but at what cost? His body was battered and torn. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through him. His wounds were deep, but it wasn't the physical damage that broke him—it was the emotional toll. He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, spiritually drained. All he could think about now was how much he longed for it all to end.
"I've had enough," Renzo whispered to the wind. "I've been fighting for so long, but nothing's changed."
The rooftop seemed so small beneath his feet. It was just one more battle he had fought and won, but it meant nothing. There was nothing left for him in this world. He had built his empire, led his gang, and yet, he felt nothing but emptiness.
It was time to leave it all behind.
He stepped forward.
The wind howled as his body teetered on the edge of the rooftop, the vast emptiness below calling to him. His legs hung weightless over the abyss, and he could feel the pull, the darkness tempting him.
He had nothing left to fight for. No more battles to win. No more lies to live.
Renzo closed his eyes, exhaling a trembling breath. He had fought for survival all his life, but in the end, survival had only brought him more pain.
And then…
He Step Forward, Falling Into The Abyss.
The wind roared as he descended, the world blurring into a rush of dark shapes and cold air.
For the first time in years, he felt… nothing.