??? POV
Boring. That's what I call Earth.
All of its beauty, action, adrenaline—none of it matters when you're poor. You can't do anything fun. You go to school, then work late into the night, day after day.
All the fun stuff people talk about? That's for the rich and famous. Maybe a middle-class family gets to take a vacation every now and then, but it's temporary. They just go back to their boring lives.
What's the point if you do the same thing over and over again?
Is it fun? No.
People tell me to find joy in the little things. But there's nothing I truly enjoy.
Maybe I lose myself in a book sometimes. Or a movie.
But it ends. It always ends.
And sometimes, after finishing a good series, there's this little sting in your chest—knowing you'll never experience it again for the first time. Like even your escape from life… ends.
That's what I'm trying to say: the cyclical nature of life isn't exciting when you're stuck inside it.
I can't just keep wishing I'll win the lottery, or stumble across some magical six-figure job, or magically get a rich best friend who takes me places.
Dreaming feels pointless.
There's no reach beyond this trap.
Earth isn't meant for everybody.
It's meant for the people who can afford it.
So don't ask me why I'm walking in the rain right now, earbuds in, music playing, dragging myself toward another late shift.
I see a father and daughter walking ahead.
They're laughing together under a white umbrella, keeping dry.
And I feel… jealous.
Not because they're dry.
Because they're happy.
Because even something that simple—sharing a moment with someone you love—feels like something I'll never have.
I long for connection. I always have.
But I fail at making them. Every time.
HONK!!!
Why is there a truck in front of me?
Am I in the street?
My body's moving, sprinting.
My legs are burning.
I glance around, disoriented, and realize: I'm running full speed into traffic.
The little girl is there—chasing the white umbrella that slipped from her father's hands.
She didn't look. She didn't think. She just ran.
And somehow… so did I.
Why am I chasing her?
To push her out of the way?
Because I want to escape life's trap?
Or maybe… something else?
I don't have time to think.
I just run.
I catch up to her.
She's just now realizing that chasing an umbrella isn't worth it.
I shove her. She tumbles forwards, out of harm's way.
I look to the side.
The truck is right there. Inches from my face.
I see the girl. Her eyes are wide with confusion.
The father's standing frozen on the sidewalk. He's mouthing something.
Is he crying?
Why?
Because I saved her?
Because he doesn't realize she's safe?
Because he knows I won't be?
Maybe all of the above.
Or maybe none of it.
Doesn't matter.
The truck hits me.
And then—
Nothing.
Father's POV
We were just walking, laughing like always.
A rainy Saturday. Heading to McRonald's for breakfast, like we always do.
"Hey Dad, what should I get from McRonald's? Hmm… I usually get a McRiddle with chocolate milk. I don't know, it's just so good, you know?"
Same conversation, every week.
And every week, she orders the same thing.
But I always pretend to think about it with her. That's our thing.
"Well, you just keep thinking abo—"
A gust of wind tears the umbrella from my hand.
"I'll go get it, Dad!"
Before I can stop her, she's off, racing into the street.
"No! Stop!"
She doesn't hear me.
A truck's coming. Fast.
I try to move, but my legs won't respond.
I'm too slow. Too useless.
Then—
Another figure bolts past me.
A young man. Soaked, pale, tired-looking.
Not the kind of tired you get from missing sleep.
The kind that sinks into your bones—life tired.
I've seen that kind of look before.
The kind of person the world forgets.
The kind no one waits up for.
And yet… he's the one sprinting toward my daughter.
Not me.
He pushes her. Saves her.
And for a second, I'm relieved.
But then I look into his eyes.
He sees me.
And I see everything in that one glance.
Grief.
Fatigue.
Emptiness.
He's accepted it.
He dies with his eyes still on mine.
"Thank you…" I whisper.
I don't know if he hears me.
But I'll remember him.
I'll remember his name, Caelan Richards.
The man who gave up everything to save my whole world.
Every time I see my daughter smile, I'll remember him.
Every birthday, every achievement, every hug.
He didn't die forgotten.
He died a hero, remembered and loved.
And I will never let her forget him either.