The man looked at the boy as rain dripped down from his dark brown hair, which covered one of his eyes and ran down his face, over his cheeks, until it fell from his chin.
His mouth opened slowly.
"Who are you?"
The boy shook his head, unable to believe how dense the man could be.
He put his hand on his forehead and said, "Did you even listen to a single word I said?"
He grew tired. Not knowing how far the man would go to avoid what he had to reconcile with, his patience started to run low. He knew what had to be done. And because he did, he couldn't bear to look at the man slowly throwing everything away he once cherished.
But as hard as he tried to change the outcome of his life, the man refused to acknowledge the boy's words.
"No, really. I don't care what kind of life you had. There's no way that has made someone like you at this age."
Seeing the extent the man was willing to go to resist every form of change, he tightened his hands into a fist and squeezed them so that veins poked his skin.
"Why can't you accept that my age or yours, or even any other, none of that can define someone's pain?"
The boy knew even before he started talking that convincing him to move would be nearly impossible. Yet, he made the decision to talk to him one last time.
The end was near. If he doesn't do this now, there won't be another chance. He wanted at least that not to haunt him.
The boy continued after a brief pause.
"And I know you had that kind of pain way before you ever became an adult… well, physically at least."
Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked at the man with narrowed eyes, tears almost glistening at the edge of his eyes as he said, "I don't care how much you can't accept that you are needed." His voice sore. "If I have to, I'll shove it down your throat until you can feel it."
It might have been too much for him to process all those things at once, but the man had to feel that boy's presence. Otherwise, it's over.
"Why does it have to be so violent all the time?" asked the man, recalling the times when someone punished him for expressing the depth of his thoughts.
Every time he opened his mouth and spoke the truth he thought was real, it was met with extreme emotional outbursts.
He had to realize there was no way out. If he chose to be himself, only disappointment followed. No matter what he did or didn't do, whenever he let out what was inside, the mood around him always changed for the worse. Though when he kept his mouth shut and only told what was accepted for him to say, no one got upset. If he acted the way others expected a regular human being to behave, they never had a bad word about him. He just had to push down what tried to burst out.
But it had a price.
He was a human. One that, like any other, had a breaking point.
It was too much for him to live among others while selling them a lie. A lie that he started to believe. So in the end, the only option left was to deny a part of himself and shut himself off from the world. And with that, he could survive another day in that suffocating space that was his lifeless room.
The boy looked into the man's brownish eyes.
"Why am I so violent?" he repeated.
He didn't say anything for more than ten seconds. Only the rain plummeting and exploding on the hard concrete was heard.
He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the cold air.
"Because you never changed!" he shouted, his hoarse voice cutting through the rain. "Even all of this is barely enough for you to move!"
The boy looked at the man with piercing eyes.
Despite all the boy's efforts to make the man realize the absurdity in what he chose to do, he behaved as though he had no idea what the boy said to him, still holding onto the false narrative that he didn't know why the boy was there.
"If you claim you don't know me, how can you know I was always in my room? That I never left?"
He kept defending himself from the boy's invasive encounter with the truth, using everything he could to avoid what he couldn't face.
Why was he so desperate? Was it that hard to admit it?
But the truth is, he already knew. The reason the boy was trying his best to break the barrier surrounding the man was that he knew the man had the answer already figured out. It's just… what the boy was looking to dig up was still far too deep to be reached.
The boy spoke up.
"When did I say that?" he asked, knowing that in order to lead the man where he needed to go, he had to first reach the top of the wall surrounding him. "I said I know you well. After all, I have lived the life of yours. I thought I was clear on that."
Just as usual, though, the man refused to back away that easily, still persistently holding onto the last piece of what he had to cover himself with.
"I don't understand any of this," he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You sound nothing like the boy you were."
The boy lowered his eyes, watching the hard concrete and the rain falling on it.
Slowly, his head raised.
"Isn't it obvious?" he said, blinking once slowly. "You are not a child anymore. I was like that to see how much you were willing to say without me needing to force it out. But you had your walls up, so first I had to breach them and tear you apart."
The boy's merciless words echoed in the man's ears.
The man was taken aback. He had long since passed questioning the age of that little boy, somewhat accepting that age wasn't defining the character of someone.
Who was an adult and who was not?
It was not so black and white as he would have liked to admit. Just because someone was young did not mean they were of no use in understanding human struggles, just like how someone who was of older age would not be guaranteed to succeed in areas where they are supposed to excel.
Humans are not archetypes from a story, where they can be put in a box and ordered how we want, where you can shape their stories to fit the mold they're a part of.
Humans are different. Each and every.
They are here not by sheer coincidence, but for the purpose of achieving greatness within their own capabilities.
They do not become the hero of their story. They never meant to strive for something so idealistic. Humans are creatures who can shoot for the stars, move masses by aiming for heights others never dreamed of reaching. They are people who reject following neat and tightly resolved pre-written arcs.
That is what humans are meant to be.
Free.
But the truth is, many were cut and bled out before the future could ever become the present. Now, they are no longer looking at the sky. Their heads are fixated on the ground, never to be raised again.
This is the fate of those who have given up.
The man raised his head and gazed at the dark sky above him. Rain fell into his eye.
He asked the boy.
"You do all that for what? For me?"
But even if the fate of the damaged was now carved in their grave, there are those who will not let the wounded bleed out entirely. When they cannot see it, when they pretend there is no one out there, someone is always there to keep them here.
"See, that's the problem right here," said the boy. "As long as this wall remains, all my works will be for nothing."
As much as someone wants to help, though, after a certain point, the person they are trying to reach can no longer be reasoned with.
It was never about a logical argument they needed, which would pull them back to the other side. In truth, they have seen it through. They knew what was ahead of them. They knew what they were doing would make everything a living hell. And yet, even after all that, they still would not change.
At some point, it might have worked. There used to be a time when they did not resist changing. A time when they could have changed.
But that is no more.
"You're just wasting your time. There's no reason for you to do any of this," declared the man as he started walking away.
The man slowly got further from him.
At first, the boy didn't move even as he tried to reach out.
He gulped.
His hands were trembling from the cold rain.
The man didn't stop.
When the man was about to leave, he leaped forward, kicked off from the ground as he ran towards him, and then grabbed his arm.
"I won't leave you!" he shouted, his voice raw. "I don't care how much you wish for all this to be over; I can't let that happen!"
The man stopped and turned to face him. His hair covered most of his face as the rain fell on it.
"Why can't you leave me alone…?" His voice weak. Eyes narrow.
The boy responded.
"Because I know that that is something I just can't allow you to have!" he cried out.
The man looked at the boy, rain pouring down his face.
"It's over. I can't change a single thing anymore," he declared with resignation.
When hearing those words leave the man's mouth, the boy furrowed his eyebrows. Veins forming in his neck, his head got redder with each second. His teeth ground. His eyes pierced the man's gaze, putting a hole in it.
"Don't give me that crap!"
He grabbed the man's collar.
"Who are you to say that!?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I hate that line of thinking."
His fist charged, pulling it further and further away from the man's face.
The man looked at him. His eyelids covered most of his irises.
"Do it," he said.
The boy's fist trembled. His grip tightened on the man's collar, tugging and pulling it up above his chin.
In his eyes, fire burned as he looked at the coldness in the man's eyes.
The boy's fist departed, getting closer to the man's face, just moments away from collision.
The man closed his eyes.
However, before he could have dug his knuckles into the man's skin, he stopped.
"No."
He let go of the man's collar and pulled his arms back.
"I'm not gonna force you to see it. If I do, I'm no better than them," said the boy as he was looking at his palm, spreading his whole hand out before himself, and seeing how the rain flowed down on his fingers.
Standing there, in the middle of the storm, rain poured on his body; the cup next to him filled up increasingly with that rain. As the man saw his coffee getting increasingly less pure, he crouched down, his knees popping, and picked the cup up.
It was no longer hot, but had yet to lose its warmth.
He covered it with one hand while holding it with the other. His hand still stinging from the punches.
Just before he left the cafe, he had one opportunity to try that black coffee, though when he did, all he felt was a burning sensation on his tongue and a bitter taste. He must have wanted to get a better taste of that coffee, and so, he couldn't bear to let that cup fill up with that filthy water any longer.
Before the end, he had to taste it one last time, so he had to find a place where the rain wouldn't ruin his experience.
Looking down, he watched his aching, glossy hand when the boy's shoes entered his vision. He was walking in the direction from which the man originally came. Back where his apartment was.
"I have to go now," said the boy.
Other than a few feet, they couldn't see a thing.
Just then, faint footsteps echoed.
.
Click.
.
Click.
.
Click.
.
A man's clicking against the solid surface accompanied the cacophony of the rain plunging to the ground.
Each step was louder than the one coming before it.