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6am. And I'm still at aforementioned lounge, and getting very bored. Even the Internet can only entertain you so much when you can't download or save anything.
Have a crappy piece of fiction I wrote in half an hour instead.
- once more, with feeling -
The first time, I don’t even see it.
It’s only when people start screaming, and the teachers begin running out of their classrooms, that I realise something’s wrong at all.
It doesn’t register, even when I see the body lying there in a pool of blood. It doesn’t register, even when I stare into her sightless eyes and someone tries to pull me away.
It’s only when I check my phone, and see her last message, that it begins to sink in. I read it again, then again, then again.
Slowly, quietly, I begin to cry.
--
The second time, I can’t find her.
I run through the school, looking for her. She’s not in class, but there’s still any number of places she could be at. Somewhere high, I know, but where? Where?
And then I remember the fire escape, and it takes me nearly five minutes to remember how to break in.
And when I finally manage to find the door, I open it just in time to see her fall.
I don’t remember screaming, but when I run to the edge and stare down at her body, my throat is raw. I quickly pull my head back to avoid being seen, and as I lean against the cool wall, I again feel something wet spilling out of my eyes.
--
The third time, I barely make it.
I run up to the fire escape the moment I can, and as I open the door, I see her standing at the edge.
I shout, and she turns, and--
She steps backwards, mouthing something, and I lunge for her.
Our fingers brush, just for that slight moment before gravity takes hold and she is pulled away. I don’t want to see her fall, so I draw back.
There’re voices outside, approaching, but I don’t really care.
I continue leaning against the wall, staring at where she was standing. Somehow, it bothers me that I’m not crying.
--
The fourth time, it’s the same.
I miss her hand, and again she falls.
Again, I wonder why I’m not crying.
--
The fifth time, it happens again.
It’s as if this was fated.
--
The sixth time, I’m too slow.
She falls before I can even open the door.
--
The seventh time, I don’t bother.
It hurts, but I pretend otherwise.
--
The eighth time...
--
…
--
…
--
I’ve forgotten how many times it’s been already.
This time, I go through the motion of going up there once more.
This time, I see her standing at the edge, and she sees me watching.
This time, I do nothing.
This time, she doesn’t step back, but instead collapses, sobbing, and without knowing why, I find my arms around her.
This time, I begin to cry.
fin.
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