Lol, it seems so dramatic and overdone, now! sweatdrop
Background and plot summary will be provided if anyone would like it. Just PM me (Which is always welcome wink ) or post it in here. Thank you!
Quote:
He shut his eyes and waited for the end. It always came. Dagda saw himself standing on the edge, breathing the solid hunks of air like salt and gazing down at the city far below, miles away, ages away. He had to be at least eight stories high. In and out, in and out, each breath a reminder of himself and why he was here. The street stared back up at him like a simple black river just waiting in anticipation for him to punch a hole in it. The lights shone back at him like candles on the water's surface in a parade of passing. They knew him, were connected with him more than any other jumper before him--because he had been here before. Many, many times.
Dagda prayed for emptiness. He wanted to let go of that which he never had, that impossible dream of idealists--heaven. He doubted now that there really was one, but even if there was, he knew that its gates would never open for him even if he were to wait ten thousand years. It was an unreachable achievement now, as far away and unfathomable as the distance below him. He had lost it long ago and something, once lost, can never return. That's the way it was, how it had always been, how it always would be.
His mind struggled as if in a fog, fighting an invisible voice screaming at him to stop. He frowned. He was so at ease here, why should he stop? Dagda ignored the voice and brusquely blocked himself off from his pleading cries, but it was unsettling--the voice sounded just like his own. You don't understand... He thought to himself. I have nothing to go back to. As I watch the people around me find themselves, I get more and more lost. No one thinks of me, and no one remembers me. A small smile tugged at his lips and he lurched forward. "So...goodbye..."
The edge was instantly left behind him as he let go of all his weight. His body was yanked forward and dragged down by invisible hands clawing at him to pull him to his death. The floors of the building passed like seconds...he was falling. The rush of the drop was all he could think of; not his regrets, not what he was leaving behind, not even his own death that he would meet in another few precious moments of life. They say that right before you die your life will flash before your eyes and it finally hits you how mundane you really are, your soul ripped from your body of flesh and bone. They were wrong. This was all he was--nothing more, nothing less, no thoughts or dreams or fears to define him. All he was was right here wrapped up in skin and bone, in this mind, this soul, this body. And nothing else. He left all of that behind him, nothing but the delicious taste of the fall to claim him.
---
His eyes snapped open and his chest heaved up as air inflated his lungs, hurrying to make up for lost time. Blood pounded through his veins and sweat matted his midnight brown bangs to his forehead. It was inevitable to avoid the crushing strain on his body afterwards--he had, after all, qualified as legally dead for the last eight hours. Dagda was used to it by now, though. He groggily forced himself to sit up in bed and supported his head in his hand. He was exhausted. He had been having the same dream every night for two years. The first time it had happened, he'd woken up in the emergency room with wires and tubes running through his entire body. He shuddered to remember; all the doctors had stared at him like he was some kind of freak show. He had been an oddity, a speculation for them to probe at until they could understand the concept of him. Yeah right, good luck with that. He'd found out later that his mother had come in to check on him during the night and found that all his vital signs had stopped. When he dreamed, his soul temporarily left his body.
Dagda reached around to shut off his alarm and silently got dressed. He was always the first one awake, though in a while his father would leave for work and his older brother would go to college. His mother was the one who would sleep in, and he wanted to avoid her at all costs. She was the landmine. He wandered into the kitchen and right away went on to fix himself breakfast. He never ate anything too extravagant this early, but he always woke up feeling as if he hadn't eaten for a week. As soon as he had his eggs, toast, sausage, and coffee on the table he began wolfing it down, not even caring which was which as long as it filled his anxious stomach.
He knew he was cursed with a defective body. He knew he would continue to dream his own death. And he knew he could never atone for what had made him this way. But it was only a small compensation for the sin that, like an ugly black stain, he would never be able to get rid of. This was his punishment, just and right, and he would gladly bear it.
