Gleb

For the past few months, he'd been working like crazy, juggling between driving taxis and trying to write music. The income from the latter was minimal, a waste of time and effort. But Gleb believed in his talent, believed that one day his songs would be heard by thousands. And now, he was cranking the wheel to make ends meet and propose to his girlfriend.
Gleb wrapped himself in a thin jacket, trying to stay warm. The night had been a bad one: few orders, one client worse than the next. One thought throbbed in his head: today he had to buy that very ring.
Finally, after midnight, he had the necessary funds. Stopping at a 24-hour jewelry store, Gleb chose the ring with bated breath. Simple but elegant, with a small diamond.
Forgetting his fatigue, Gleb flew home. His heart was beating wildly.
But happiness, as they say, loves silence.
In a dark alley, around the corner of the building, two people were waiting for him. They appeared out of nowhere, like shadows. Rough faces, cheap tracksuits, the smell of alcohol.
Gleb tried to wave them off, to say he didn't have time, but the other one had already grabbed his jacket. A short but brutal struggle ensued. They hit Gleb in the face, in the ribs, and turned out his pockets. He tried to resist, but the forces were unequal.
In the end, exhausted and beaten, he lay on the cold asphalt, looking at the dark sky. The thugs disappeared into the night, taking with them his day's takings and, most importantly, the ring.
The girl was waiting for Gleb in the apartment. He said he'd be there soon, but more than an hour had already passed. She dialed his number, but all she heard was a soulless answering machine.
Pulling on a jacket, she went outside. She walked the entire neighborhood, peering into every alley. And then, in one of them, she saw him.
Gleb was lying on the asphalt, his arms spread out motionless. Dark stains of blood surrounded him.