Transcribed on a Headstone

08May08

The busy streets of new York race beneath me. It’s a powerful feeling, knowing you can stop traffic with one false footfall. A man walks up behind me. We exchange hellos and he asks me what’s wrong.

“You can’t trust people anymore, chief. They’ll tell you they’re going to the store and end up in Vegas. They’ll borrow your money with no intention of returning it. It ain’t worth it anymore.” Then he moves close, putting his hand out. “I don’t want your sympathy… could you leave? This is kind of personal.”

His eyes housed shotgun shells and that look blew me away. “You think this is about you?” he yells. He takes a step closer, his chest nearly touching mine. “Listen here, it’s people like you who make me sick. People who whine and complain, but that’s all. Go ahead, do it! See who misses you! I came up here to help you, you coward. But now, I’m willing to push you myself.” His whisper was fierce and bit into me like a rabid dog.

Zoom out to see the ground, twenty stories below me. Thank God for cinematics.

He scoffs and turns away. I call out to him. “All I need… is for you to say go.”

“Yeah, because today I woke up and thought, ‘Hey, I really want to give someone permission to kill themself.’” Then he starts to descend back into the building, his head dripping further and further underwater. I rock backwards on my heels.

Resistance doesn’t meet me. I heard somehwere that after you jump, you regret it. There’s no regret, but I’m probably just in shock. “It was nice meeting you!” I call out. The busy streets of New York race beneath me… it’s a powerful feeling. “This must be what God feels like.”

I hit the ground laughing.

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