Soul Reincarnation: Trials of the Landlord

As he continued his forlorn dance amid the bustle and crowded street, he was aware that his work was not enough for his life and his mother. But, he didn't have a choice, is not like he had other work that accepted him. He dedicates all his life, his tormented life, to make his mother feel cherished.

Life had lost all its splendor and aspirations. He was, in essence, a failure, unable to withstand the relentless cruelness of a civilization that had never shown him an ounce of compassion. They insulted him and treated him like trash, all because of what he did to keep them entertained.

"Who let this idiot outside his cage?" a voice pierced the bitter air, full of scorn and disdain, as chuckles began to echo through the crowd. "You won't make anyone laugh with that face!"

Their sudden stares bore into him, laden with disgust and humiliation. It was a harsh truth that no one wished to dispute, for he had come to accept it himself. He possessed neither the ability to amuse nor a face suitable to captivate the masses; his tricks were lackluster at best.

"Yeah, thanks for the jokes!" he forced a laugh, though behind that painted smile lay a shattered heart and unspoken pain. He continued to perform, dancing to the tune of an old and low-budget sound system beside him.

Even when they tossed him meager snacks and a bottle of water, this humiliation had become a part of his daily routine. It was as if everything else had faded into oblivion, leaving him alone amidst the heartless public, a tragic figure in a world that had long discarded its empathy.

"I've told you countless times to change that awful appearance!" bellowed the stout man seated across, the ember of his cigarette casting an intermittent light on his face. "How do you expect to have money when all you're doing is scaring them off?"

In a deliberate motion, he reached for a piece of document, releasing a plume of smoke as it escaped his lips. "Take a look at this. It's a compilation of complaints from your coworkers, all of whom seem to have a lot to say about your bad performance."

"You're beyond terrible and completely unreliable," he sneered, punctuating his words with a forceful slam of the report onto the table. "You can't even manage to play a musical instrument, a basic requirement that everyone else has no trouble with. I'm at a loss right now as to where to put you at this point."

"Let's be clear, that this line of work just isn't suited for you."

The lad, still in his clown costume, cast his gaze downward and proceeded with a subdued nod and a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He bore the brunt of his boss's scathing words, each one a targeted barb that further chipped away at his already broken spirit. He had always known that days like this would come, exacerbating an already dire situation.

His thin and malnutrition-shaped steps faltered along the uneven sidewalk, each one marked a distinct lack of liveliness. The weight of his despair seemed to haul him down, causing his stance to sink. With a hard sigh, he tried to lift his eyelids, as if not only the exhaustion in his body but the weariness in his soul.

He ventured into a narrow, route that led to an area far removed from the bustle of the metropolis. As he stood before the ramshackle structure, a dilapidated house that looked as if it had weathered more storms than he had.

The scene that filled his eyes was one of squalor and neglect. Piles of discarded debris littered the floor, the air heavy with a mixture of rot and an undercurrent of criminal movement. The existence of local thugs and prostitutes was evident, their dominion over the area shattered within the shadows cast across every corner.

"Home already, huh?" called out a woman, her clothes revealing more, her legs encased in the fishnet stockings. She lounged casually by the entrance, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. "It's not usual for a clown like you back earlier."

The man's response was delayed as he fumbled for his keys in his pocket. "Why didn't you come inside and I could've explained?"

A thin, almost sinister smile stretched across the too much makeup face of the woman. "And how were you planning on paying up? I don't accept debts."

"Let's see if you can handle mine and I will make you limp!" retorted the dude, his voice laced with frustration as he struggled to fit the key into the lock, his attention torn between the stubborn door and the provocative figure before him.

"Such a miserable sight, lost in fantasies," mocked the woman again, her black hair unkempt, her demeanor filled with sarcasm. "You're all talk and no action, I bet you came before even started!"

The piercing exclamation was ignored as the man managed to unlock the door, stepping into the dark interior. The reverberated moans that welcomed him did not disrupt his composure.

In a twist of fate, his reaction was absent, as though he had become immune to the mess that surrounded him. He moved towards the kitchen as if nothing had transpired.

With all the finances he had earned before being fired could only buy a few necessities, such as eggs and kerosene. He hungrily started cooking what was left and the moan was no longer heard.

There, in the isolated room, the door was opened by the half-naked, muscular man - walking outside like nothing happened.

Behind him, there is his mother, her dissolved short black hair attached to her skin because she bathed in sweat. When her eyes met with her son, she didn't look after him a bit and moved to close the entrance, leaving him and her alone in a tense atmosphere. The young man widened his eyes and took a step closer to the woman who leaned on the door.

"Again, Mom?" he uttered and his voice quivered. "Why do you have to do that? I told you I worked hard to make you leave this habit."

Her face shifted even more irritated. "None of your business."

"Mom! I worried sick about you!" he raised his tone as he walked near her.

"I don't care," she hurried herself to go back into her room.

He trailed her into her room and the condition was chaotic. The clothes seemed to have been thrown haphazardly, with no regard for where they should have been laid out. The mattress blanket was messy and there was one spot where it was wet with some kind of fluid, the smell of cigarettes wafting through the air as the child went deeper.

This was a sight the young man had seen many times before, and still, his mother did not heed his words once in a while. The woman then changed in front of her child, revealing her curves and her underwear.

"Where are you going, Mom?" the child asked confusedly, completely ignored by the stocking-wearing woman sitting on the corner of the bed.

Then she got up, fixed her hair, and began to apply makeup that was too thick and garish. "Why don't you get out of here? Just fuck off!"

"Mom, don't tell me you're going to that place?" the child shouted as the woman got up to take a step. "Wait!"

As he held back his mother's hand, the woman slapped her son swiftly and violently, her expression instantly changing to one of fury. "Stupid kid! Don't interfere in my affairs! Get out of my life!"

The child who was still silent in that place let his mother out, her voice speaking to someone outside was briefly heard and then disappeared. His cheeks now felt hot, his eyes turned dull and lifeless.

The mother who had given birth to him, someone he had fought so hard to make happy, didn't even look at him. The love he never felt shattered him to the core.

He hurried himself out and the woman who welcomed him earlier had vanished. He didn't know what to do, he was so dead inside and let himself walk through the narrows until warm sunshine touched his skin.

Right now, he wanted to make his heart feel relieved enough to move on, to not care about it anymore. He didn't even care about his surroundings. Let it be his steps steered him to somewhere else, to somewhere that might still offer him some hope.

Even for a bit of dust.

At the traffic intersection, it wasn't too crowded for someone looking to cross the street. The fact that the traffic light was still red offered a sense of safety, suggesting they could traverse it without risk. As he waited, he observed a woman with a striking sense of fashion confidently using the pedestrian crosswalk.

However, a sense of unease gripped him as he noticed something peculiar about an approaching truck. It was moving at an alarming speed, appearing as though it might not be able to stop in time.

The driver, realizing they had lost control and their brakes weren't functioning, swerved sharply into the opposite lane to avoid colliding with the vehicle ahead.

In that harrowing moment, no one could have anticipated that there was still someone on the pedestrian crossing, unaware of the impending danger.

Despite the imminent danger to his own life, he made a split-second decision to rush towards her and shield her from the impending collision. In a selfless act, he pushed her out of harm's way, causing her to tumble backward onto the asphalt, narrowly escaping the impact, but he was not as fortunate.

The bone-chilling sound of the collision pierced the air, prompting the woman to let out a harrowing scream. A crimson trail of fluid splattered across the road in the truck's destructive path. As for the man, he was no longer aware of his condition; all distress seemed to dissipate. Darkness enveloped him completely.

[You have reincarnated]