Curtis had given up on life. He lost the will to live, and the straw that broke the camel's back was Denton County, Texas. They persecuted him without asking a single question, automatically assuming his guilt. He was jailed and fined, paying exorbitant amounts just to stay out of jail. Curtis was more of a modern-day Quaker, firmly against violence. He couldn't even spank his own children when they were growing up. He never raised his hand in anger, except for the occasional school bully during his high school years.
Growing up as a Marine Corps brat, Curtis moved around a lot and encountered his fair share of bullies. It was hard to believe that someone who had been hurt and beaten down so much could still refuse to bring harm to anyone. Curtis's aversion to violence stemmed from deep personal trauma. As a child, he was sexually assaulted. When he tried to do the right thing and went to the police, the man was arrested. However, the judge believed the assailant's seemingly sincere apology and only gave him probation.
While on probation, the man moved on to victimize three other children. This time, the court didn't go easy on him. Each of the kids' cases resulted in a 15-year sentence, to be served consecutively. He had to serve 30 years before being eligible for parole.
So why did Curtis not have a voice? Why is it that when something happened to Curtis, the man only got probation, while everyone else received years on their sentences? Did Curtis not matter? Did his voice not resonate with anybody?
That event made Curtis wander through life, trying to prove his manhood because he felt like it was stripped from him. And if he wasn't trying to prove his manhood, he was trying to prove his innocence. Either way you look at it, his life at a young age became a roller coaster. It caused him to dislike authority figures. The judicial system let him down. He had noone to count on. He felt like no one was on his side.
Curtis's life was a constant battle, not just with the external world but with his inner demons as well. Despite all the pain and suffering he endured, he never let it turn him into someone who could harm another. His story is one of relentless persecution and unwavering resolve.
As if Curtis's life hadn't been hard enough with his childhood trauma, more pain found him in the military. One evening, while pulling duty, a young soldier approached him, visibly distraught. The soldier's eyes were red, and his shoulders slumped with the weight of his troubles. He had been subjected to relentless hazing by his fellow comrades for falling out of the runs-a cardinal sin in an airborne unit, where physical endurance was paramount. The young soldier's spirit was broken, and he was teetering on the edge of despair.
That night was long, filled with anxious thoughts about how to help the soldier. Curtis was hoping that tomorrow would bring some relief for the young man. But the following morning brought a horror that would be etched into Curtis's memory forever..
As the morning sun began to rise, casting a pale light over the base, Curtis prepared to meet the First Sergeant. Curtis walked in silence, the weight of the soldier's troubles heavy in the air. Just as he reached the 2nd floor, the young soldier was in the room in front of him. Curtis looked at him, concern etched on his face, but before he could utter a word, the soldier reached for his M16.
Time seemed to slow as Curtis watched in helpless terror. The young man, unable to bear his pain any longer, raised the rifle and ended his suffering right before Curtis's eyes. The sound of the gunshot echoed in the still morning air, a violent punctuation to the soldier's torment.
Curtis was frozen, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The blood, the lifeless body, the unbearable weight of witnessing such a tragic end-it was all too much. That morning, that singular moment, seared itself into Curtis's mind, becoming a permanent scar on his soul.
The aftermath was a blur of military procedures, questions, and formalities. But for Curtis, the real struggle had just begun. The image of the young soldier's final act haunted him, a relentless specter that would follow him long after his military service ended. It was a wound that would never fully heal.
Curtis went on through life as a product of the pain and suffering he had endured. The military event left a deep scar, but Curtis always gave of himself to ensure no one else struggled or got upset because of him. He'd give his last coins, share his last bit of food, and offer himself time and again, only to have more stripped from him when he wasn't looking.
He cried out for help in the military but received none. As a kid, his pleas were ignored, and now, dealing with the situation with a girl from Venezuela, his calls for help to numerous cities, police agencies, immigration, and even Homeland Security went unanswered. Why does he not have a voice? Why does he not matter? Why is he society's punching bag?
Now, he's facing charges of stalking, even though his ex-girlfriend's affidavit is filled with lies. Rumors spread that he was a woman beater, and the community he helped and tried to keep safe turned on him. They threatened his life on several occasions and even pulled a weapon on him, yet nothing was done to the woman who did it. She went unpunished, and Curtis lost his home yet again.
Curtis, unable to take it anymore, wandered off into the streets, a heavy weight on his shoulders and a profound emptiness in his heart. He knew he wouldn't return, and deep down, he accepted that his journey was coming to an end. He took enough alcohol with him to ease his nerves for what he intended to do, feeling a twisted sense of relief wash over him.
The streets were eerily quiet as Curtis walked, each step feeling like a final goodbye to a world that had given him more pain than solace. Не found a sec
luded spot, a place where he could be alone with his thoughts one last time. The memories of his struggles played like a haunting film in his mind the cries for help in the military that went unanswered, the childhood pleas that were ignored, and the recent betrayal that had shattered his already fragile spirit.
With a trembling hand, Curtis took out the fentanyl he had carried with him. He had enough to end it all, and the thought brought him a bitter sense of peace. As he prepared for the final act, he took a swig of alcohol, feeling it burn down his throat and momentarily dull his senses. He thought of the community that had turned on him, the lies that had ruined his reputation, and the hopelessness that had engulfed his life.
No one would check on him, he knew that. No one would come to his rescue, just as they hadn't in the past. Curtis closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face as he whispered a silent goodbye to the world that had been so cruel to him. In the quiet of the night, with no one around to witness his final moments, he ended his own pain, his lifeless body a testament to the silent suffering he had endured.
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