The small apartment Hiro lived in was more like a dark prison than a home. The air inside was thick, filled with the stench of mold and dampness that permeated every corner and crevice of the worn-out walls. Those walls were riddled with cracks, as if they were screaming out in agony from the filth that filled them. There wasn't a single part of the room that was free of garbage—torn plastic bags, rusty cans, and rotting food scraps scattered everywhere, surrounded by maggots and rats that inhabited this wreck as if it were their own world.
There was nothing driving him to clean or tidy up; what was the point when life was just a long wait for the end?
In the corner of the room, Hiro was sitting in his wheelchair, his lower half lifeless, his thin body barely visible under the tattered clothes he wore. His legs were exposed, covered in scars and wounds that hadn't healed in years. Some of these wounds were infested with maggots feeding on his flesh, a horrifying sight that mirrored his decaying life. His eyes, black and sunken into dark hollows, were the result of countless nights of insomnia and stress. Pain was his constant companion, like hammers that never stopped pounding on his head, intensifying his suffering and feeding the hallucinations that began to take over his mind.
Amidst this ruin, Hiro stared at his old phone, its screen cracked but still functional. The phone was one of the last things connecting him to the outside world. An old game he had been playing for twenty years was his only refuge from this daily hell. He never stopped playing, even in the utter silence that surrounded him from all sides. His stomach constantly reminded him of his need to stay alive. Hunger was like a dagger stabbing into his guts, painful and torturous.
Days had passed without him eating anything to satisfy his hunger. In recent days, all he had eaten were small pieces of moldy bread, so foul that even the insects in this hell couldn't eat them. He survived on some dirty water that seeped from a rusty faucet, water contaminated with mud and decayed minerals. Yet, nothing was enough to quell the hunger that was consuming him from within.
Hiro began a desperate search for any hidden piece of bread in the corners of the apartment. He turned over the worn-out floors, opened old, dust-filled boxes, but found nothing. After a long search, he found some coins that might buy him a piece of fresh bread. A faint feeling of joy washed over him; he thought of the taste he hadn't experienced in years.
He picked up his phone and placed it on his wheelchair, between his legs, as he always did. He never let go of his phone; it was his last link to a life he no longer remembered. Before leaving the apartment, he headed to the bathroom to drink some water to quench his thirst. He turned on the faucet and tilted his head toward it. The dirty water began to flow slowly. The water was brownish-yellow, resembling a mixture of mud and decayed metal. The first drops were heavy, leaving a mark on the old sink, as if they carried with them the filth accumulated in the pipes over the years. A strong metallic odor filled the air, mixed with a faint smell of mold.
After drinking enough to survive another day, Hiro headed toward the apartment door and opened it with difficulty. The weather outside seemed like it was going to rain; the sky was heavy with dark clouds, as if nature itself shared his gloom. Hiro began to move slowly toward the nearest store. On his way, everyone moved away from him; it wasn't out of pity for his condition but out of fear and disgust at his appearance and smell. But he didn't care; he had lived in these conditions for years, and all he wanted was to reach the store and return as quickly as possible.
When he arrived at the store, the bright lights inside made him feel out of place. The light was painfully bright, causing a sharp pain in his head, adding to his usual suffering. The place was full of life, a stark contrast to his slow death. He headed toward the cheapest food and tried to reach the shelves, choosing something to stave off his hunger. But it wasn't long before he felt a stick striking his worn-out wheelchair.
"Excuse me, but you need to leave. You're driving customers away."
The employee's words and expressions were filled with contempt and disgust. Hiro ignored the employee and tried to reach what he was after. The employee, angry at being ignored, began shouting at Hiro.
"Get out of here before I throw you out myself!"
Hiro asked him to hand him the bread from the top shelf, and then he would leave. The employee looked at him and asked him to show the money. Hiro reached into his pocket and pulled out the few coins that weren't enough to buy a piece of bread.
"That's not enough. Get out now."
But Hiro insisted on his request, offering to take whatever those coins could buy. The employee kept staring at Hiro, and out of a faint sense of pity, handed him some old leftover food. Hiro thanked him and left the store, heading back home.
On his way, he felt a faint joy because of those leftovers that should have been given to animals. But he didn't see the speeding truck coming toward him, ending his moment of happiness.
At that moment, he felt everything slowing down, as if time itself pitied him. The impact was strong, the pain fleeting, and then the darkness slowly crept in. On the edge of his consciousness, he saw his old phone light up, the image of the game that had been his entire life appearing on the screen. He barely managed to raise his hand to touch the screen, whispering in a voice barely audible:
"Let's play... one last round..."
But life didn't give him the chance. With those words, he breathed his last, leaving behind a world that never understood him, giving him nothing but pain.