Despair

"Can I interest you in an extra can of soda? We have a special offer, and it's currently 20% off—"

"Just put the fries in the bag, bro"

Michael paused, staring blankly at the customer before forcing a smile. 

'Ah, I wonder if I would survive the fall from the top of the building—or if the concrete pavement would win' 

His money was on the pavement, but, of course, the only way to be sure was to test the hypothesis firsthand through the only true scientific method.

Before he could dwell on that thought any longer, a voice snapped him back to reality.

"Michael! Michael Carter! The f*ck are you!?"

With a sigh, he turned and trudged toward the kitchen, where his manager stood waiting.

"Hey, buddy... You know how Stacy just dipped on us? Yeah, so we're short-staffed, and I was wondering if you could cover her shifts? Oh, and by wondering, I mean I already wrote you in, so good luck!"

"Wait, what? I already have every closing shift next week, and you want—"

His manager raised two fingers in a lazy peace sign and slipped out the exit before Michael could finish.

For a moment, he just stood there in stunned silence. Not the first time he'd been taken for granted, but definitely the most blatant. Maybe someone with self-respect would walk out after being treated like this, but Michael didn't have that luxury. His manager knew that—and exploited it without shame.

"F*ck..."

Muttering under his breath, he turned back to the chaos of the kitchen. Two coworkers, both new hires who had barely been here a month, scrambled to keep up. In a place that needed five people to barely function, trying to run it with three was asking for a miracle. The restaurant was packed, shoulder to shoulder. At this rate, there was a genuine chance of becoming a father by accident.

And, as if things couldn't get worse, something in the kitchen just ignited. Great

"This is fine" Michael said, reaching for the fire extinguisher with the same enthusiasm as a man reaching for his executioner's axe.

"I'm so sorry!" One of the rookies blurted out.

"No matter. Now, give this to the customer"

He handed her a plate of food so charred it could double as high-quality charcoal.

"But—"

"Listen" He cut in, deadpan. "If someone's desperate enough to eat here"—He gestured dramatically to the grease-stained floor—"then this is five-star cuisine compared to what we normally sell"

She hesitated but, in the end, couldn't argue with that kind of undeniable logic. The 'food' was swiftly packed and handed to an absolute unit of a man who, against all odds, had managed to squeeze through the restaurant's entrance. Without hesitation, he inhaled the burger as though drinking it. His fat shivering in visible satisfaction.

"Good" he grunted, he did not spare a word more—most likely afraid of losing calories by overexertion.

"Happy to hear…" The rookie answered, her soul visibly leaving her body.

Michael wiped away a fake tear. "Ah… they grow up so fast"

Two more hours till closing.

***

The hospital room was silent.

Michael sat beside the bed, staring at the frail woman lying there, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm dictated by machines. She is in a coma, looking heart wrenchingly weak. 

The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound breaking the oppressive stillness. 

He should've said something. Anything. But words failed him.

Instead, his body spoke in ways he didn't intend—his leg bouncing restlessly, his heartbeat growing erratic. A tension built in his chest, coiling tight, waiting for the smallest spark to set it off.

"Excuse me…"

A soft voice jolted him from his trance.

Standing at the doorway, half-hidden behind the frame, was a nurse with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but visiting hours are almost over"

Michael blinked, disoriented. The clock on the wall read nearly 9 p.m. He'd been sitting here for two hours, lost in silence.

It was hard enough getting a day off to visit, and now that he finally had, he felt like he'd wasted it. He swallowed that frustration, though, and simply nodded before rising from his chair.

The nurse walked him to the exit.

"You know…" She hesitated, glancing at his face before deciding to continue. "Things might seem hard now, but… there's always hope when there's a tomorrow"

Cliché. Probably something she said to every grieving visitor. But still—Michael let out a small chuckle.

"Thanks"

He waved as he stepped out into the cold night air, letting the words settle in. There's always hope when there's a tomorrow.

That was what he had been telling himself all this time, wasn't it? That if he just endured today, tomorrow would be better? If he just persevered, one day his grandma would wake up, and he'd have a real job, a real future—one not fueled solely by empty hope.

He just had to keep going. That was what he told himself.

***

Two years passed in a blink.

A constant cycle of working, visiting the hospital, and clinging to the idea that things had to get better.

But today, that cycle broke.

"The city looks beautiful from up here" Michael mused, gazing out over the skyline. The rooftop of the hospital offered a perfect view of the world below—streets bathed in golden light, holiday decorations twinkling against the dark. The crowds bustled below, nothing more than tiny ants from where he stood. He couldn't see their faces, but somehow, they all seemed happy.

Happier than he had ever been.

His fingers curled into fists.

Today was the day his only family—the only person who ever truly cared for him—was gone. And the worst part? He wasn't even sad.

No, what he felt was something far uglier.

"F*ck! F*ck! F*ck!"

His composure shattered as he screamed, voice raw with frustration. Tears streamed down his face as the weight of his entire life crashed over him.

His past replayed in his mind like a cruel joke.

His parents, dead in a car crash.

His grandma, raising him alone.

Giving up college to work, barely scraping by to afford rent and medical bills.

Lying to himself every single day, telling himself that things would get better.

But they didn't.

And now, after everything, after years of struggle—what was his reward? Minimum wage and a hospital bill he couldn't pay.

And then, the thought came.

'I wish she had died sooner so I could have had a chance at life'

A choked breath escaped him. Guilt, hot and suffocating, curled around his chest. But no matter how much he wanted to deny it, the thought rang true.

If she had died sooner, maybe he could have finished college. Maybe he could have built something for himself. But instead, he had wasted years chasing a future that was never meant for him.

Maybe some people were just destined to struggle while others were meant to succeed.

Maybe he had been doomed from the start.

His tears stopped. A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips. The absurdity of it all hit him like a punchline to a joke he hadn't realized he was part of.

Michael ran a hand through his hair and took a step closer to the edge.

The city stretched out before him, full of life, full of people—people who never had to try as hard as he did.

He looked down at the pavement below.

And he wondered if the concrete would win.