Prey to fate

Freedom...

It has always been a concept that humans, since the dawn of knowledge, have sought to understand. We have tried to grasp it, coveted it, aspired to it. No self-aware person could live without contemplating it at least once, for freedom was, to them, an obvious synonym for happiness.

Each person had their own perspective on it: some defined it as the satisfaction of their desires, others as liberation from laws, the transgression of norms, and much more.

Yet, in myths and legends, freedom is distilled into one thing: breaking free from the threads of fate. You are constantly reminded of those heroes who dared to fight the destiny bestowed upon themsuch as Icarus, who sought to soar to the heavens, or Ulysses, who broke free from the will of the gods.

Yet, the price to be paid is often forgotten. Some have fallen, others have suffered, or simply perished for this defiance against the heavens. To challenge the divine is not without consequence.And now, more than ever, this truth resonates.Such acts will persist for a long while, or perhaps not at all.

In Manhattan, within a shadowy alley, one might glimpse the life of a person who appears to be at odds with fortune, the gods, and all entities, be they abstract or conceptual, that symbolize each individual's fate.

On a pitch-black ground where the darkness seems to languish, eager to devour any remaining light, lies a young man, about 1.60 meters tall, with a frail frame, likely due to malnutrition. He is sprawled out, his pale skin, akin to refined jade, marred by wounds, bruises, and blood.

Despite his apparent adolescence, as if he were just beginning to discover the world, his appearance contrasts sharply with the details observable upon closer inspection. His back, though weakened, is held in a stance that projects defiance, as if he would not bow to the sufferings of life.His arms and torso struggled against gravity, while his lifted neck displayed a pride that emanated from the deepest part of his being.

He was the embodiment of a figure for whom one could only pray out of pity.

His black hair, as if dyed by the very darkness of the world, is grimy. His half-open eyes reveal a shiner, their deep blue like a sapphire reflecting the cosmos. Yet,upon closer inspection, there is an unyielding resolve in that gaze, as though he is battling against the entire world.

Despite the agony of his fractured bones, his determination compels him to prop himself up, the sound of his bones creaking under the strain. Overwhelmed by the pain, he manages to sit on the steps of a building. Gazing at the night, obscured by the city's pollution, he utters slowly, "I hate this life."