1 | Do I... have a purpose In Life?

“You bastard!”

*Kick*

A firm kick landed on Zenn’s abdomen, sending him flying into the brick wall of the kitchen.

“How many times have I told you to mind your own business?!”

*Kick*

The man grunted, putting his entire weight into the kick.

“Pa~ I’m sorry!”

“Sorry, won’t fix what you did! You idiot!”

He kept kicking the boy. Blood sprayed out of his mouth with each impact.

Why is all this happening to me? Is this man really? Can he really be—

Another kick cut him off from his thought.

“Next time, learn to keep your stupid mouth and opinions to yourself.”

The old man walked away, muttering something about how useless the boy was in the house.

—My father?

The boy got up slowly, squinting and holding his abdomen tightly.

He sat up, and his eyes quickly caught the trail of blood coming from the living room over to the kitchen to the very spot where he lay.

I’m so sick of this life. This existence isn’t even a life.

He bent low, tears rushing down without warning. He’d let them.

He hates me! There’s no other reason or explanation for what he did. He hates me.

The thought kept spiraling in his mind for a few minutes. He let out a low chuckle that made his belly hurt. He clutched his abdomen tightly in response.

He stood up slowly and fetched a rag to clean up.

He scrubbed the floor thoroughly; he already knew what a dirty floor would earn him.

I wish I could run away from all this. Run away and never come back to this family. Run away and find peace at least. Even a day or a few hours would do. If I were able to eat some good food and sleep without fear of being electrocuted or being poured water…Then I will do it.

[ Zenn’s POV ]

Life.

If one were to tell me that living came with so much burden, I’d agree. Was I really…born to suffer? That was a question I kept asking myself growing up.

Years, I watched the one I called father laugh at my efforts and use the slightest provocation to beat me to a pulp.

I got so used to his beating that even the bullies at school began distancing themselves. Their taunts—they felt—were ineffective.

Were all humans this cruel and unforgiving? Were all humans holding resentment against me? Is life only fair to those born with a golden or silver spoon in their mouth?

My questions—day after day—kept increasing and were left unanswered as well.

Everyday…

“You idiot.”

“Bastard!”

….Was just…

“You’re so useless, Zenn-chan.”

“Open wide~.”

“A few bugs in your Tommy won’t hurt ya.”

…another lie…

There was no truth to my life anymore.

Every day, when I walked home from school and saw kids holding their father’s hand or playing in the park, I would feel a shiver run down my spine.

Why was mine different?

I would always ask.

I started avoiding parks and main roads and started following alleyways.

From time to time, I would bump into a few thugs, and we’d exchange pleasantries that always ended in me being stripped of all I had, a bloodstained shirt, and a few bruises.

Why won’t I die?

What the hell is death waiting for?

It always amazed me how death came for those who weren’t prepared for it and seemed to be repulsive to those who begged for it to take them.

Every night, I’d pray to not wake up and start my lie of a life again, but time and time again…

…I failed.

I tried poisoning myself once.

“Haah…agh!”

Only to open my eyes again and find out I was still under the same roof as my nemesis. Turning around, I’d see foam and a few droplets of blood, but I was still living.

It didn’t add up.

The next day, I stood in the middle of the road, arms spread wide, and awaited death.

But it never came.

Instead, the vehicles seemed to dodge me, and a few youths beat me up for causing a near commotion on the highway.

I could only help but smile and then break down in tears again.

Why won’t my pathetic life end?

Why?

I raged internally.

When I recovered from the beating, I walked home, leaping. On the way, I noticed a mass gathering nearby.

Everyone was wearing a black outfit. There was a coffin in front of them and a bold picture of a guy in front of it. He looked young, probably still in his 30’s.

I didn’t feel touched by any of it.

It seems the death I’ve always asked for was given to this guy on a platter. What a lucky guy you are.

I chuckled, shaking my head, and walked down the same lane.

“He was just about to be a father~” My ears caught that sentence, my curiosity piqued as I paused in my tracks.

The man I just praised for being lucky was about to be a father and just rendered his wife a widow and his child fatherless.

The person who made the statement was crying uncontrollably, mucus rolling down her nose, her eyes swollen too.

She looked a bit older than him, shorter, and had lots of grey hair. She also looked a lot like him.

Maybe she’s this guy’s mother

I clenched my fists, my face dropping to the ground.

I didn’t know this person, but after hearing that one statement, it hit me deeper than it should’ve.

Why?

Why did death always come to those who seemed to still have purpose in life?

I paused.

The realization of my own thought cut deeper than any wound I had over the years.

Could this be that…I don’t have a purpose in life?

Could it be that I am just living with no direction?

Could this be the reason for my suffering?

Could he be…

“You useless brat!”

So annoying!

Good for nothing.”

…right?

A tear fell from my eyes before I could stop it.

And then came the rain.