[ WP ] Someone threw himself under my train today . I want to know more about him , to be able to put a story behind his face . Tell me who he was .

He'd been struggling a long time. 
 
 It was n't depression that got him, that he could handle- the sadness, the fear, the hopelessness. It was n't the pain. It was the lack of pain. It was when he stopped feeling, when the world seemed grey and he was numb all over, numb to the marrow of his bones. 
 
 He used to walk the streets at night when insomnia got him- he had n't dreamed for years. He was looking for something, though he did n't know what, but even as he searched he had the deep, dreadful certainty that he would never find it. 
 
 He wandered to the subway station, wandered to the train, wandered to the ledge, the finality of his every step was not lost on him. He looked, for a moment, at the tracks. Discarded gum, cigarette butts, newspaper scraps, a pencil. It seemed fitting. 
 
 He did n't hesitate. 
 
 He looked up at the metal beast hurtling toward him, and for a moment the world was all blinding light and deafening sound and screaming colour, and he died having felt *something. * 
 
 He did n't leave a note. 
 
 I wish I could tell you his name, but I do n't know it. We never do. Every day I see him- crouching by a heating grate, leaning off a balcony, walking with his head down, sleeping on newspapers in freezing streets. He's everywhere, and nowhere. He has nothing and nobody, and he's drifting, unmoored, floating in numbness and the frigid dark. We've all seen him but none of us remember his face. 
 
 He was the lost, the broken, the left behind; the cornered, the hopeless, the resigned. He had no choice. He was the dead. 
 
 He was the wounded deer and the hunter, the man on the tracks and the barreling train that crushed him. 
 
 He was me. He was you. He was all of us, and all of us are him. 
 
 *** 
 
 Edit: my subreddit is r/sushideception if you'd like to read more of my work.
