But, in the end, literally, what the hell was that?
Was he a copy of those around him?
It was something so identical to the thousands around him, all crawling after a goal he didn’t know, but for some reason, he needed it just as much as the others, and somehow, he managed to get it.
Was it luck? Destiny? Some kind of mystical being in control?
No one knows.
However, without a doubt, that was something.
But what something?
That something became Benoni.

Benoni, poor soul, cast out from his mother’s womb, without knowing why, learned from an early age to fear.
But fear of what? What was he so afraid of, and why?
He didn’t know either, but he felt rejected by his home, his first home.
Of course, he didn’t yet have the capacity to understand the concept of home, but there he had lived comfortably for nine months and was abruptly expelled.
Why would his mother feel such repulsion to the point of casting him out of herself?
Benoni didn’t know, but he felt it.
And if he felt it, it was valid, at least for him.

Benoni, for his part, was born a fragile baby.
He cried over everything, much to the displeasure of his mother, poor Gerusa who, after a long and tiring day of work, all she wanted was a good night’s sleep, but thanks to that small, crying creature, she couldn’t.
Poor Benoni, he didn’t know what it was to live, much less to die, but still, he was afraid, perhaps that’s why he cried so much.
If he felt hungry, he cried. If he felt cold, he cried. If he felt discomfort, he cried.
If he felt anything, just for feeling, he cried.

As soon as Benoni grew a little, his mother made sure to teach him to swallow his tears once and for all.
"Why cry so much?! Do you see me crying?! So many who should be crying aren’t, why do you cry for yourself and all of them?!"

Benoni, for his part, understood his mother’s pain and no longer cried, but carried with him the guilt of all the tears he had shed in vain.
He felt like an impostor, burdened with a sorrow that wasn’t his. Of course, he still felt. He never stopped feeling. How could he? He just learned that he shouldn’t feel to the point of overflowing, after all, Benoni was someone, and every someone had to be mature.
Maturity would make him an adult, and adults didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense.
That’s what made them someone in life.

But what about his father?
Couldn’t he have corrected this mistake that, in the future, would cause so much confusion in the head of that poor child?
How could he? He disappeared even before knowing what ambiguous name his son would bear.
His mother was both his mother and father, the one who raised him and brought sustenance to their home which, although modest, was enough to live on.
Benoni was very proud of her for being so many things at once, yet at the same time, he felt ashamed of himself for being nothing.
How could someone as incredible as his mother have had someone as miserable as him?
If every someone has a name, and even his name didn’t truly belong to him, once again, what was Benoni?
Someone or something?

In the first few months of high school, he fell in love for the first time.
Eva, the girl who took his breath away like a sudden breeze.
Smart, beautiful, lively she was the set of all pieces that fit into his great puzzle, the woman who invaded his dreams and stole his glances every day.
How could a woman like that be interested in Benoni, whose only virtue seemed to be effort?
He didn’t know, but, just like the day of his conception, probably through sheer persistence, he succeeded.
She loved him, and he worshipped her.
How could that go wrong?
Benoni didn’t know how, but he was sure it would.
There was a dark cloud hovering over his head, giving him the certainty of the impermanence of things there wasn’t a set date, but it would end, just like everything ends.
Benoni hated the anxiety caused by doubt; it was as if hesitation suffocated him.
When would it end? Would it take years or days? Why would it end? Who would end it?
Benoni didn’t know why he thought that way, but he knew that thinking like this would keep him from building expectations and, consequently, would make sure he was prepared for whatever the future had in store.

Poor Benoni, suffering in advance, and after so much torment, he let go of his love.
It wasn’t passion that was the missing piece for him, but money.
Yes, indeed, money would solve all his problems.
It would be the solution, perhaps not to a miserable life, but to a miserable man.

He began his working career as a maintenance mechanic, and despite the long working hours, he earned a small salary that allowed him to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like watching the relief on his dear mother’s face as she no longer had to worry about paying the bills at the end of the month, admiring her smile when he gifted her new slippers and clothes, and delighting in the pride she felt for her beloved hardworking boy.
For the first time, Benoni truly felt like someone, for the first time, he felt genuinely admired for his actions
If work provided that, then that’s what he wanted for his life: to work.
That was the solution to all his problems, work would be the salvation from his misery.
He then made the decision to quit school and work more hours each day.
The more work, the more money. The more money, the more happiness.
His mother, of course, would never agree with that.
She always said that education was what led people to success, but she didn’t need to know about his decision to drop out of school as long as she was satisfied with her hardworking son.

By sacrificing his studies, Benoni managed to work harder and longer.
After a few months, he was promoted to machine operator, but even then, he still wasn’t satisfied.
Day and night, he dreamed of becoming an industrial director, one of those men who walked around the factory in suits and ties, earning a lot of money just by controlling everything and everyone.
That was the life, and that was the life Benoni wanted.
For it, he was capable of anything.

Once again, he found himself in his primary condition, becoming a copy of those around him.
He barely ate, barely slept, barely talked, barely breathed.
From being so barely “someone,” he became sick.
How could he be such a weak man? Why was he the only one getting sick?
Him, of all people, who didn’t have time for illness.
He didn’t let the sickness get him down; he kept working but didn’t last long and fainted.
He woke up in the office of the industrial director, who scolded and yelled at him, accusing him of being lazy and threatening to fire him.

Fired. Benoni now faced the risk of becoming unemployed.
What would happen to his poor mother?
What about the bills to pay? What about his life, having given up everything for that job?

Desperate, he begged his boss for forgiveness for his illness and pleaded for another chance.
He begged so much that the director offered him a deal: as long as Benoni underwent a minor surgery that would make him work even harder, he could stay employed as a machine operator for the rest of his life.
Without thinking twice, Benoni accepted without even asking what would be done to him.
He only knew that he would keep his job, and for that, he was willing to do anything.

It was done. The surgery was a success.
A small device was implanted in his head, permanently controlling him through the men in suits and ties he had once admired and aspired to be like.
Now, Benoni no longer needed to eat, drink, sleep, or blink.
Now, Benoni was no longer Benoni; he was no longer something, much less someone.
He didn’t feel, he didn’t express himself.
He wasn’t.
What wasn’t he?
He didn’t know.
Who could be something that didn’t know what it was?
Who could not be something that didn’t know what it was?
Well, he was something that wasn’t, just as he had come into the world only this time, he wouldn’t become someone, nor return to being something.
He was nothing more than nothing.