1 post from February 2009

Excerpt from a short story I wrote:

A push.

A push and I'm falling. From where I stood a moment ago I could see the city in all of its glory; the twilight reflected glowing reds and oranges off the glass buildings, enlivening the skyline with dancing flames. Now I'm falling. All of that beauty and end-of-the-work-day satisfaction has disappeared. The warm lights have been replaced by the blackness of the street and the scum and dirt all around it.

I'm falling. It's taking so long. I catch my image on the reflective building as my bloated body tumbles through the air. My hat is gone and the thin hair on my head reaches upward, upward in desperation at the ledge I left behind. The shock in my aging, round face is punctuated by the excessive white seen in my gaping eyes. I don't scream.

Sounds are different now. The noise of the city has muffled. At the forefront I hear the voices of my loved ones-- my teenage son Curtis (he tells me that he'll be in the NHL someday), my beautiful wife Shelby (she hums that song she wrote for me when we married), and a couple of my close buddies just laugh with me like we were back sharing stories at the Big Apple sports bar. And the wind...the wind is loud.

The people below are getting closer; a few have become onlookers and one of the cabbies is rubbernecking to see what they're pointing at. The streets are brimming with men and women who are stuck in rush-hour traffic and just want to be home. There's nothing they can do: they just watch. I must look like a chubby, spiraling silhouette against the fiery sky. I should be down there with them; I should be going home.

Will I feel the pain? Of course, I'm feeling it now. My body is out of its element and doesn't know what to do. My muscles, my organs ache in anticipation of the cement below. I don't know what to do. I ask God for forgiveness, just in case that whole thing has been true all along. I wish I could call my family and tell them I love them just one more time, just one more time.

Nearer and nearer they come to me, and larger do their numbers grow. There are plenty of people watching me now. I'm sure one of them is taking pictures or video; this'll be all over the Internet by the end of the week. What am I worrying about that for? Never mind it.

The ground is close now, but I see the metal outcroppings that decorate the perimeter of the building at the 25th floor. Should I even try to grab them? I won't be able to hang on. I might just wind up impaling myself or bashing my head. Doesn't matter, it's my only chance. It probably only takes me a split-second to fall far enough, but there seems to be enough time to consider all the possible approaches. I stretch out my arms and grip my hands...