Alright, here’s a bit of a more lighthearted one.
Well, maybe not lighthearted. But funny.
I found it funny, anyway.
He stopped at the top of the stairs. He had finally made it. Despite its triviality given context, his exhaustion from climbing forty flights of stairs took the center of his attention in the moment. His body just kinda hurt: not any specific origin but an all-encompassing warning of the oncoming – albeit doomed to failure – soreness.
He pushed his hands off his knees and stood upright and walked to the edge of the roof. A two-foot cement wall “protected” him from the drop. He climbed onto it.
He looked over the edge. He could see some light emanating from the lower floors of the building, but the ground was void. Whether it was somehow too far to see the lights below or they had been turned off for some reason he couldn’t say, but it was imperceptible. Aside from the the automatic fluttering of his stomach and his still-aching legs, there was little to let him know of the height.
He tightened, pushed his weight up onto his toes, and toppled over the edge.
He started with his eyes closed, clutching his sides tight, knuckles white with tension, teeth clenched and insides squirming. His hair whipped around wildly and he was a tense ball of pain and chaos and relief. He began tumbling without end or aim.
What was the acceleration from speed, again? Thirty-two feet per second squared, right? He’d been falling for at least ten or so seconds, right, so that would be thirty-two plus sixty-four plus one-hundred and twenty-eight plus…
Had the floors on the building been taller than usual? Shouldn’t he have hit the ground by now? Shouldn’t it just be… over?
It had to have been like five minutes by now. This was impossible.
He must already have died without noticing it, or at least remembering it, and this was hell. Or heaven? Or maybe purgatory? Purgatory might make more sense.
Alright, he had had about fucking enough by now. Twenty minutes or something. This was getting annoying. Although at least the instinctive fear he had felt at the beginning had faded. He was free-falling calmly, or as calmly as one could, and bored with it. Had he seriously traded his life – awful as it was, no doubt, he wouldn’t have been driven to this otherwise – for an eternity of falling into the void?
He discovered it could be fun to move his arms and legs in certain ways to change his trajectory, darting back and forth for the next few minutes. Another fifteen minutes and its novelty had vanished.
Slowly, slowly, he was becoming okay with this. Maybe he was just becoming numb to the falling, maybe he was just becoming numb to everything, but he was beginning to think that this wasn’t quite as bad as he had first thought. Things were looking up. Maybe an hour, now? No problem. He had untold hours ahead of him.
He knew why he was coming to grips with it, he thought. The presumable eternity of this state, which had horrified him earlier, now became comforting in a strange way. There was nothing he could do about this. There was no way he could change where he was, what he was doing. And instead of finding insecurity in that, he found relaxation in it; it meant that he could give up into it, he no longer had to strain, to fight his way through his existence on his own, he could just fall and fall and fall and exist at peace.
And, this last thought humming in his mind, he splattered onto the ground.