[ WP ] Your character is in soul-crushing debt . They are losing the will to live . One day , an envelope with more than enough money to pay off what they owe is posted through their door . It comes with a note .

Each day I feel my hope ebb away. If mountains stood tall, I would reach past the skies in the obligation I have amassed. Curtains and folds where I had taken money hidden lay bare with its value quintupled upon my plate. I am alone in this. I have sat in wait for help to come yet I still stand alone after years of sorrow. And for what? the degraded plastics of my life sit wasted on shelves with dust, left with memories as company of thoughts of fleeting happiness. What if, by happenchance, I won the lottery? -- No, no, I have tried and failed that many times. 
 
 I say I wait yet perhaps immobilized is a better phrase. Has another sat the crushing stance I stand to bear? Light drifts from one corner of my room to the next as I lay in wait for assistance. I am a cripple, laid to rot, bed-ridden by myself and imprisoned therein. 
 
 The Daily Post has just arrived. There is the man's vehicle, his squeaky brakes, the accompanied ring of my doorbell. This must be time for me to gather my post. It has lain in wait for me for almost a week, growing crammed in its seemingly smaller space. I toss the covers off my sweaty legs and stagger to the door, clutching it for support where my legs have failed. I do n't feel the desire to recover my mail any longer. Let it sit another day. I crumpled to the floor, my back pressed against the wall. 
 
 I took my face in my hands and laid it to rest with the tears of a thousand men. I let them fall down my cheeks. I let them. Their tear stains mark my face. The hands I clutch to are sodden with my pleas. 
 
 The setting changes as my body grows slack with exertion. Soon the lids which hold me to behold my creation grow weary as well. I stand outside now. The sun warms me, heartens me, yet I know the chains which hold me do not escape my dreams. My knees meet the ground with a thundering force, jarring the sun from the sky and bringing instead darkness to echo my cries and relinquish its sadness onto me. A sodden note falls upon my neck, wet with the same that permeates the slip. I turn over to grasp it and read its content. Upon it is the nightly taunt of my ensnarement, a jaunt at my pleas, answering them falsely, promising more than I may bear. 
 
 No longer do I sit in the rain but once more against the wall, empty-handed.
