A river flowed through the city, its light green and dark grey surface marred by oily, rotten trash. It was a cold and windy Christmas Eve, and few people in the city knew the true significance of the festival – its origin, history, and meaning. Instead, they were ensnared by commercial advertisements, paying exorbitant prices for an apple that symbolized safety.

With a hunched back, he wandered along the cemented pavement that ran parallel to the river. His black hoodie was pulled up over his head, while the gray hoodie of his jacket hung loosely, further accentuating his stooped posture. A sparkling cigarette dangled from his mouth as frowning passersby hurriedly went past him.

He absentmindedly fumbled for his cellphone in the pocket of his jeans with his right hand. The metallic device pressed against his leg felt warm, while the other side touched his skin with a cool sensation. After isolating himself for a month in his rented room, he emerged into the world once again. No one reached out to him – his parents had started new families after their divorce, his girlfriend had left him for his best friend, and he had been fired six months ago, leaving him frustrated and ashamed to face anyone he knew. Trapped in that cold room, he had felt suffocated by loneliness, unable to grasp the meaning of life. “If life had no purpose, why should I continue living?”

Finally, a sentence from Ulysses inspired him: “You never know who will touch you dead. Wash and shampoo. I believe they clip the nails and the hair.” This quote led him to decide on a dignified death that would bring him back to people who would care for him.

The sky darkened, heavy with leaden grey clouds, and the wind blew harshly, cutting through him. The warmth from his cigarette extinguished. He imagined people cleaning his lifeless body, trimming his nails, shaving his hair and beard, and dressing him in white garments. Oh, how warm and comforting that thought was! Ahead of him, there was no railing, and a few months earlier, a drunkard had fallen from the same spot and drowned. He stood still, contemplating, “This height won’t kill me.” With that conviction, he moved forward, ascending the bridge, facing the water momentarily, and then, he leaped into the river.

A few minutes later, he was pulled out of the water. His hair, clothes, and cheeks were stained with mud, and a piece of branch was lodged in his mouth. He was quickly taken to the nearest hospital, where soon his parents, siblings, ex-girlfriend, friends, and a couple of his former colleagues rushed in, crowding the room.

“Why?” cried his mother. “You scared me!”

“What’s wrong with you?” shouted his friends.

“Terrible!” groaned his father, running his hand through his hair.

With an unpleasant odor and dirt clinging to him, no one dared to touch him; they kept their distance from his bed.