His hand slid into his pocket and shook it. There was only the occasional sound of colliding metal. There wasn’t much there.

The hand returned from the pockets carrying the contents: a piece of paper and two shiny nickels.

“At a nickel a thought I can only afford two, but I do have two nickels to rub together.” These idioms were humorous and depressing at the same time. They offered a verbal poetry to his scene of dismay.

Just yesterday it seemed like he was on top of the world. Things were going swimmingly financially and he had made every right move. He was able to fully enjoy the fruits of his labor and today he couldn’t afford the thought of ending his own misery.

His life, whole world had become rubble and ash, along with his hopes and dreams. How could someone go from indescribable joy to immeasurable distress over night?

From home owner to homeless, steak dinner to starving and well groomed to well… even he was disgusted by the thought of what he was wearing, sweat soaked and covered in soot.

“The pain is still too near.” He told himself. “Can’t allow myself to make rash decisions right now.”

“You cannot afford to have any decisions. You are broke.” His subconscious retorted, sending him back into the flames of his own grief. The burning in his chest returned.

His head sunk back into his hands, smearing the dirt on his face again.

“Just sleep and let this all fade away.”

He curled up into a ball amidst the smoldering ruins of his own life. He never woke.