A drunk man clearly past a prime, that he never had, stumbles through the sidewalk of a deteriorating city of sin. Brothels with flickering neon signs and lead-painted whores cloud his vision more than the smoke of the nicotine-addicted. Not that he can judge, the drugs he takes regularly are much worse than nicotine and he'd gladly whore himself out if he was attractive enough. Alas, he's a 40-year old drunkard afflicted with the entirety of Pandora's Box of illnesses and the attitude of a homeless schizophrenic. It's rather miraculous that he ISN'T homeless, to be honest.
A homely woman with clearly padded breasts saunters over to him. "How's it going sweet thing~". She's clearly desperate for money. That's the only reason a slut would approach someone ugly as him.
"I ain't got no money," he slurs. At these words, the lady of night immediately scrunches her face caked in poisonous makeup. The artificial appearance that can barely be called beauty cracks in his eyes.
"Tch. This shithole got nothin' but deadbeats." Her previously seductive tone is replaced with a harsh Boston accent as the unnamed woman flings her stubbed cigarette at his feet and walks away. He has no room to be mad at someone as mundane as her. Someone who will likely be murdered for pocket change with not enough care to even get a News report of her death. She's someone who knows his pain, and he pities her. He pities himself.
People who say they hate pity have the luxury of enough pride and privilege to not need it. He craves pity as that's the only positive emotion he's ever evoked. He pities himself for being born ugly as a dog. He pities himself for being born poor and fatherless. He pities his childhood under an abusive mother. He pities his lack of intelligence...
The only life skill he has is the tenacity to survive the slums. Why he bothers to live, even he doesn't know, but he gets to drink another day if he does. Speaking of which, this decrepit man is heeled over licking a beer bottle from a Brothel's dumpster. His eyes devoid of life seem to spark with happiness for an iota of a second. That mere second of joy passes, though. Time doesn't matter to him, so he's unaware of the multiple days he spends blacking out in this alley, only when the alcohol runs dry does he become sentient. Eventually, he gets up and slowly huddles over to his apartment. The previous tenant died and the body still hasn't been found so he's been using it as a free living space until their next payment is due. How that tenant died is, well, confidential.
Static overtakes his ears as he turns on the rickety T.V. to "enjoy" the news. Like most people from the slums, he avidly hate-watches those with lives of importance. Humans are not born equal and this man is clearly one of the many who has received a cosmic punishment forcing him to forever wallow in misery. A handsome man in his 20's appears on the screen.
Cain. He's a model that's been taking the world by storm due to his charming looks and witty nature. His obsessive fandom of teenage girls have ensured memes of his mediocre quotes circulate every corner of the internet. All the recent romance movies have cast him as the male lead with his only job being to stand there and be pretty. His research projects at University are in constant circulation and he's often seen as a guest in science podcasts. Despite all this popularity, something almost never mentioned is his 'Daddy's Money'. His father is a billionaire CEO who has invested his bottomless pit of wealth to make his son a unilateral success in every aspect. Who's to say how much of his success is deserved from his own merit? Sure, he's graduated top of his class from Harvard, but he bought his way in as a legacy. Did he really earn those grades or did his father's money? Sure, he seems to have a 'timeless beauty', but fashion isn't actually timeless. The only possibility to remain conventionally attractive with modern time's flippant trends is plastic surgery. No one is forever beautiful without money. He's naturally gifted in a lot of aspects, but Cain's wealth has cemented him at the top. Money rules the world.
The man watching Cain's interview angrily throws a glass bottle at the fly buzzing around the drooping ceiling and damp debris of 'his' apartment. His name is Kenneth Walker - not that anyone asked. It doesn't matter because no one cares about him. He's an awful person who's unattractive in every aspect. The antithesis to the handsome youth he's watching on the television. Kenneth angrily punches the crumbling walls and screams in agony. The thin walls surely have alerted the entire apartment complex, yet no one is stupid enough to start a fight with a senile man on the verge of a violent rampage.
Now, his vision is clouded not with the smog that he's seen his entire life but with completely dehydrated eyes. Fiery dehydration that burns from the eyes to his cracking skin. Worn rags increase an insatiable itch. He wants to carve out his skin with his jagged nails. Claw out his eyes.
But he doesn't. Instead, he silently slumps on a cushionless couch and weeps. A weep of pity for himself. He curses Cain with his shriveled heart and vows to take all the power he can in his next life, if he's forced to live another one. However, he doesn't want to live in this cruel world ever again. He yearns for a darkness but fears death. There's nothing more poetically depressing than failing your only reachable goal repeatedly. He could kill himself, but he doesn't. He wants to so badly.
"Make me Cain!" He screeches at no one. Passion that has never entered the walking corpse of Kenneth fills to the brim. Rage is unfairly directed at a man who's been given the world and more. His fist smashes against the T.V. and glass shrapnel embeds into his knuckles. A course ragdoll riddled with scars feels no despair over such wounds, though.
Still, Kenneth gradually faints from the pain and is given the solace of sleep. He dreams of being in the body of Cain while he has sex with one of the many women at his beck and call...
Or at least, he thinks it's a dream.
The body of Kenneth never wakes up again, but the soul lives on. The child blessed by the light of limitless power seems to die that day and be replaced by a flickering ghoul of the night. 'Cain' is afflicted with a goal to bring down the world that's benefitted him so much.
The Requiem of the Night Walker.