I’m kneeing. My hands are behind my head, entangled. The soil is dank, a mix of dirt and oil. From your point of view, hidden in that corner, it might look like an arrest. Oh God, I wish it were, trust me. But where is the police when we need them?

I don’t know any of those three guys. The one standing in front of me is tall, muscular. But that doesn’t make him the boss. His attitude, though... that’s another story.

While the two on each of my side are wide too, they seem not knowing what they’re doing. Their eyes are... unconscious. Dull. But this guy, in front, he’s the shit. His teeth are shiny. The streetlight nearby is playing with them and those glints are piercing my eyes. I only realize now. They are made of metal.

“Again, I don’t get it, what do you want from me?” I ask for the second time.

“Ultimately, your death. You don’t hit a woman. Never. That’s the rule.” the boss says. The two other clowns are nodding, like if they had any ounce of power.

“I told you. I’ve never hit her. She’s my ex-wife. She decided to leave me because she fell in love with another guy but he played her. When she got dumped she came back but it was too late. Now she’s getting a revenge. You know nothing about the story.”

And all I’m saying is the truth. And all of those who know me deeply know that I only hit in certain circumstances.

She had tried her revenge already. One day after lunch I went back home to take a nap. She had moved out for 4 months already. But that day, asleep on the sofa, I heard the entrance door open. I didn’t have time to fully wake up that she stuck a knife into my throat. Just like that. Fortunately, she’s always been bad with kitchen utensils. The blade didn’t hit anything serious, and not counting the hospital bills and the days incapacitated, the incident was soon forgotten.

Until tonight.

Now I’m stuck in some shit again. You know, I’m a Stoic by nature. I focus on what I can control. The rest, I embrace it fully. I do not think twice about what I don’t have control over. When shits happen, I handle them. But now, tonight, I’m tired. I’m tired of that. I’m tired of her. I’m tired of immaturity. I’m tired of obsession. I’m tired of all the unhealthy ways people handle their emotions. I’m tired of how they blame others. I’m tired of all the meanness and madness of the world.

For the first time in my life, tonight, cold, wet, a prisoner, I feel hopeless.

I always thought that I could die with dignity, that my death wouldn’t affect me, that I would welcome it, having lived a life fully conscious, fully decided. But to end it here, now, I don’t seem to be able to accept it. My body is torn, my stomach cramped, my intestines... non-existent.

I’m kneeing. My hands are behind my head, entangled. I raise my eyes to the sky, proud. But this is all fake, I’m terrified.

From the corner of my right eye I see the boss ordering his dogs with his chin. The baseball bat is rising up, and up again. And you, you’re still hidden behind that wall, staring, doing nothing. Thank you, I guess.

A strong swing. Then the wood hits my skull and in a fraction of a second millions of broken little pieces of bone are shredding the memories of a lifetime.