Life, or something close to it.

Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult.
Samuel Johnson

Everything happened so fast. There was no time to think, no time to analyze the pros and cons of the situation, no time to worry about what the repercussions would be. There was something to be done and he had done it. Later lying in a white bed, staring up at a blinding light he would wish he’d stayed back. He would wish he’d just let the boy die.
There was this kid, eight or nine, in the middle of the road. Was there a toy, a ball maybe, that he was trying to pick up? He couldn’t remember. Just a kid and a jeep rushing through, trying to beat the traffic light. So, without thinking he ran and he jumped. He pushed the kid. The kid fell down, away from the danger. He tried to pick himself up, hoped he would hear the screech of the breaks, but the jeep didn’t stop.
And then the pain. Unbearable, excruciating pain. There was nothing else in the world right then. Just him and this pain. No thoughts of poverty, of money, of joy or sorrow. It didn’t even matter if the kid was alive or dead. He just wanted the pain to stop. He screamed. A crowd gathered around him. He didn’t care, he screamed. He saw a pool of blood beside him. His blood. He screamed his lungs out.
It had been like any other evening. He was on his evening walk, trying to cool his head after another heated argument at home. Where could he bring more money from? Did his wife expect him to beg, to steal? He was doing the best he could. He loved his wife and his children but he always knew marriage was a mistake. He could barely feed himself. And that evening he told her. It slipped, and as soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. But when the words came out, they were venomous, filled with hatred, meant to hurt. “I wish I’d never met you.”
The sirens of the ambulance were loud. The paramedics were pushing people aside.
“Can you hear me?” they asked. He nodded.
“I need you to speak. Can you hear me?”
He wanted to scream into this idiot’s ear, he wanted to scream so loud it that would turn him deaf. YES, I CAN HEAR YOU. DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS PAIN. “Yes” was all he could muster.
They put him in a stretcher, carried him into the ambulance and hooked him up with an IV bag. The scream of the siren was louder from the inside. A hospital. They were taking him to a hospital. That meant bills. How would he pay the hospital? How would he buy his medicines? Would he be able to walk? He tried to move his leg, it wouldn’t. how would he earn any money without his legs? Why did he have to make that jump? There were hundreds of people there. No one else jumped. No one else tried to act hero. They were just spectators. They would’ve let the boy die. They would’ve cried justice. And they would’ve been furious. ‘Another rich bastard thinks he can do what he wants’ they would’ve shouted. They would’ve stopped the jeep and beaten up the driver. Perhaps they would’ve even felt good about themselves. And then they would’ve walked away and lived their mediocre lives. Why hadn’t he done the same? Why didn’t he think about his wife? Why didn’t he think about his own kids? What will they do now? He had destroyed their lives as well as his just to be a hero, to save a kid he didn’t even know. He didn’t even know if he had indeed saved him. The kid could be in another ambulance about to die, just like he was. And all of this would’ve been for nothing.
The ambulance stopped. They rushed him through the doors. A doctor asked him if there was anyone he should contact to let them know what had happened.
“No” he said, “there’s no one.”
What good would having his wife beside him do now? If he died then the entire cost of the hospital would become her problem. How would she pay the hospital? No. He couldn’t do this to her. He’d been selfish trying to save a stranger without thinking about his family. He would not do that again. His death would be an anonymous one. He would be an unclaimed body. They would do whatever they had to do to save him. But if they failed there would no one to pay for their efforts. He wished they’d fail.
I wish I’d never met you. Those were his last words to his wife. Oh, he loved her. He loved her dearly. He wished he could take it back. I love you. I’m so grateful to god that I met you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better. I’m sorry I couldn’t do what I promised I would. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see the kids grow up. I’m sorry for treating you so wrong. I wish I could take back every harsh word I ever said to you. I wish I could back and start all over again. I would work harder. I would do all the things I said I would. And even though it’s not possible I would love you more. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
She wouldn’t know what happened to him. He would be just like so many other men, who walk away from their families, leaving behind a legacy of poverty and shame. She would hate him. She would wish she’d never met him and she would mean it.
They took him inside a large room. There were five-six people with masks on. They shifted him from the stretcher to a white bed. He looked up. There was a blinding light shining down upon him. A man put a plastic mask in his face. He started feeling drowsy. He let go of all of his thoughts. He bid goodbye to his wife, his kids and embraced the oblivion and waited for death to come.