"The sunset scene is truly beautiful…"
He had seen the same scene hundreds, even thousands of times from the roof of the same building. Yet every time, he repeated the same comment. After all, even for him—someone who no longer felt any meaning in life—the sunset was genuinely beautiful.
"But the beauty of sunset comes from the sun's self‑immolation, doesn't it?"
"Doesn't that mean humans also have their own sunset? Our lives burn themselves out to the end as well."
"Unfortunate for the sun that its self‑burning lasts millions of years, maybe more. That's why it rises and sets almost endlessly. What a tragedy… to have to do the same thing every single day without interruption, until an unknown end."
"Fortunately for humans, they have the right to choose—to put an end to everything… and set forever."
Clark gave a bitter, sarcastic smile as he spoke. He was alone. No one heard his philosophical mutterings.
Friends? He had none—or rather, he never had any. In his entire life he had never gotten a single friend, not even at school, despite making it all the way to university… but he finished without one friend.
Perhaps his lack of friends was the reason for his current state, where he had lost all sense of meaning in life.
"Is it dark already? I like the dark."
Clark touched his face. Half of it was horribly burned and disfigured—hard to look at for more than a second. That was why he couldn't make friends…
"Who would want to befriend a monster like me?"
"The darkness of night is my companion…"
That's why Clark loved the night. He could lift his head freely and stare at the beautiful night sky.
'Tsk… it would be even more beautiful without the annoying city lights' he thought to himself.
Clark Morrison—born and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. For some reason, when he was an infant he had an accident where hot oil spilled onto him. He nearly died but miraculously survived, living the rest of his life disfigured, with no hope of treatment.
His parents abandoned him, feeling that raising an ugly child was pointless. Through some connections, he was placed in a reputable orphanage. He grew up and lived properly within its care. He entered school, grew older and taller, but…
"Meaningless… my whole life is meaningless…"
He was now 26 years old, but in all those years he never felt alive. He had lived up to this point driven only by the instinct to survive… but at some point that instinct had weakened to nearly nothing.
The proof was the many fights he'd been getting into lately with neighborhood gangs. He had been beaten, even shot. He wasn't afraid even when some bullies from a certain gang cornered him and beat him until his flesh was swollen.
This had just happened last week, because he'd taken something on a promise to pay but never did.
"Heh, I thought these drugs would give my life meaning… but reading manhwa and watching anime is more numbing than this crap."
For some reason, even when he tried drugs he couldn't enjoy their effects. A doctor had told him he suffered from a rare, possibly fatal condition—an unknown mutation of the Red Pigmentation Syndrome—that made him completely immune to anesthetics.
That was right: Clark, with his red hair, was of Norwegian descent.
Without a doubt, without the burns on his face and neck, he would have looked pleasant—especially with his blue eyes shaded with gray at the bottom.
"Meaningless too…"
As he matured he grew more aware that even beauty fades in the end, so it truly had no meaning either.
Memories of Clark's life flickered before his eyes one by one since he began recalling his surroundings.
The common thread through all those memories was the fearful and disgusted looks every time someone saw him… even people disfigured like him showed a look of relief when they saw him, whether they were worse off or less. Relief comes when you feel you're not the only one suffering.
"Ugliness has meaning…" Clark said, remembering it all. After all, it was impossible for it not to, when it had stolen daylight from him… and stolen the meaning of life from him as well.
"Living in the United States is meaningless too…"
Even as the strongest country in the world, many ghosts lived there whose dreams had evaporated into the shadows.
Clark stood, staring at the ground far below. Falling from this height meant certain death; he was standing twenty floors up!
"The only thing that ever truly gave my life meaning was diving into the beautiful fantasies created by others… not bad."
Clark smiled as he gazed down at the eternal darkness waiting below.
Suicide hadn't been an easy decision, but he had completely failed to integrate into society. He couldn't hold a single job for more than a month—he was usually fired. He couldn't find a decent place to live—he was usually pushed out. In a way, his very existence wasn't wanted by others.
Even when he sought help, they deceived him with fake smiles and false promises; by the next day he was usually forgotten.
"I can't live in this world any longer."
Clark had tried to go along with reality but found it unbearably hard. The dull routine couldn't wear him down, but one can't live in this world without money and a roof overhead.
"When you're unwanted, leave quietly."
Saying that, Clark jumped straight from the edge of the roof, leaving all his grievances behind on planet Earth.
Twenty‑six years of suffering ended in an instant, without a farewell note—no one interested in him would read it anyway… because such a person didn't exist.
The terrible pain of death was fleeting, and then there was nothing but true darkness.
Truly meaningless.
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