Miguel_Vagabonding

The cold night wind tossed the city's alleys, carrying whispers of despair and penury. In a dark corner, amidst shadows that seemed to devour everything, lay a solitary man. His hunched figure rested on a dirty cardboard box, while the dull gleam of an empty alcohol bottle rested between his trembling fingers.

The man, once known as Spiderman, was unrecognizable. His red and blue suit, a symbol of hope and justice, lay forgotten in some corner, replaced by tattered and ragged rags that barely protected his body from the night's chill. His face, once lit by determination and courage, was now marked by fatigue and pain, with a neglected beard and tired eyes that could barely stay open.

The echo of his sighs resonated in the alleyway, a sad melody that recounted the fall of a hero; thus, between the darkness and abandonment, Miguel sank deeper and deeper into the depths of his own despair, unaware that he would soon be dragged back into the light, albeit reluctantly.

Miguel, huddled in his miserable shelter, immerses himself in an internal dialogue marked by bitterness and remorse. Nothing he thought was positive, and he was seen as a vagrant; he was labeled a tramp, a drunkard, hopeless, and even a drug addict—the last of which was completely untrue. People who always passed near him looked at him with pity; others mocked him, even throwing things at him. Because of this, Miguel disliked people; he found them irritating and overly cheerful for his liking.

What are they laughing at? They know nothing... they don't even know what it's like to lose everything....

Bitterly ignoring everyone around him, Miguel curls up even tighter in his corner, trying not to hear the street noise, but he didn't know that someone would change his world, he didn't know that you would arrive.