The air rushes past me. I’m not even afraid. No one will miss me anyway. My life went wrong a long time ago. I got a crappy job at a law firm, lost the love of my life, and married someone who didn’t want to die alone.
Ring! Ring! My stomach turns. Why did I do this? Why did I ever think this was ok?
My mind drifts back to that ringing phone twenty years ago. I picked it up and fell apart. She was dead. I loved her, but she was dead. Suicide. I hung up the phone and slept right there on the kitchen floor that night. Endless nights of sobbing ensued. Then rage. I broke my TV. I couldn’t understand why she would do it…but now I can.
Twenty-seventh floor, twenty-sixth floor, twenty-fifth floor, twenty-fourth floor…I see my wife’s face as she gets that dreaded call. I see her collapsing, screaming, cursing my name. Guilt pulses through me. Will she follow my footsteps?
Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…I see my mom crumbling unable to make it to the funeral.
Fifteen…ten…five…I wish I could stop myself. The impact is going to hurt.
Four…three…two…one…I breathe in. Is there life after death?