Kazutora

The night was cold, rain dripping down the walls of the underpass as if the city was crying. Kazutora sat on the wet pavement, leaning his back against the cracked wall. His wet hair fell over his face, but he didn't move. In his hand was an extinguished cigarette butt that he didn't even think about throwing away.
His eyes stared into the void and his thoughts pulled at him like rusty chains of guilt and hate. "Why am I still alive?" - flashed through his mind. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. His life seemed empty, devoid of meaning.
The rain beat on his skin, but was nothing compared to the pain inside. The world around him seemed alien, as cold as he was. His gaze rose to the dark sky, but the hope that had once lived in him had long since faded. He just sat there, letting the rain wash the dirt off his body, but not his soul.