• Why stand there? Why hold that same position for hours everyday? Why does he do such ridiculous things with nothing to gain? Why could a man with so little be so much to the world around him? My questions would soon be answered.

    It was a day like any other in mid March. The clouds steadily spilled their contents onto the earth below them and the sun rested behind their gray walls. The blades on my windshield moved right and left as they constantly flicked away mounding water. My knuckles turned white against the plastic steering wheel of my Honda while I slowly inched forward in the morning rush hour.

    I turn my head toward the neon clock display upon my dash. 8:30 AM, shines brightly at my eyes. I hit my skull hard against the head rest at the prospect of being late for work. My life is hell, I thought to myself.

    I leaned forward slightly, pressing gentle pressure upon the accelerator. My car jerked forward a few inches, closing the gap between my front bumper and the truck in front of me. I turned to look out of the window into the dead still highway below me. That’s when I noticed something odd.

    A man stood on the sidewalk of the over pass opposite my window. His soiled clothes torn and tattered looked as if one more scuff would release them from his body. Hands, boney and covered in multiple layers of filth, held a torn piece of cardboard with something scribbled in black. No help needed. God bless you all.

    My eyes widened in shock. This man standing here at the side of the road with barely a thing to wear said that he didn’t need help. I continued to watch in disbelief as a car going the direction opposite me rolled down a window and held out a hand with a bill in it. The man simply mumbled something with a smile and the arm retreated, money still in hand.

    The traffic began moving smoothly again. I did not turn on the freeway however. I continued to the light at the end of the overpass and waited for it to change green. My car swung around and I drove to the side of the man. I rolled down my passenger window. My hand went to my pocket for my wallet and came back with a twenty. I reached it out for the man to see. He simply smiled as he had before and then placed his hand atop mine.

    “Keep the money.” He began to speak in a soft tone almost laughter. “Where I’m going money doesn’t mean a thing.” He returned to his former position and waved at me goodbye.

    My foot placed upon the gas once more and then crept forward. What did he mean “where I’m going”? I turned around once more in just a time to see a flash disappear over the railing. The cardboard sign lay upside down in the street. I stopped. He had leapt from his stance to his death in the middle of the asphalt below.

    I opened my door and ran to the rail. Warm vomit hit my tongue as my eyes hit the sight below. The muddled body of the man lay steaming on the ground. A semi hit the gore and the soft muffled crunch of bone and flesh hit my ears. My stomach turned its contents out upon the concrete.

    I returned to the car seat wiping the stinging acid from my lips with a tissue. My leg forced down the accelerator and my car sped the way I had come. I headed home, sick from the events I witnessed.

    I was almost half way back and a half hour into my trip when I decided to turn the radio on. I turned to the news. I waited for the static filled voice of the anchor to come across the speakers announcing the suicide. But nothing came. Nor would it ever.

    A single thought began to echo inside of me. One so intense it still rings out today. Has this world become so accustomed to death that one so horrific passes by unnoticed?