Flawed Flower

The First and Last

     In the middle of bustling taxi horns, thousands of feet rushing to where their issues are, faint gossips, cellphone rings, tinkle of spoons stirred in coffee cups at nearby restaurants, clattering plates, and doors opening and closing, people stopped to look up, raised their palm to protect their sight against the just-risen sun, while their other hand held their briefcases for work. Some on the nearby cafes just starred with their newspapers on their lap, sipping their early morning coffee, as if watching the good old 'The Sopranos', patiently watching how it will end. While some are confused, trying to make sense of what's happening, discussing what they're seeing with their companion, or a stranger fellow passerby whose attention was also caught by this black figure on top of the hundred storey building, debating whether it is a construction worker, a window cleaner, or a jumper.
     People might've thought it is a city joke to interrupt their day. But the longer they stare, the surer they were. The thought that someone will die today is sad, but also to tattle the tragedy they'll witness right in front of their eyes to their coworkers, friends, and family, as soon as they arrive to their destination wouldn't be so bad. Some doesn't want to wait, agitated of what may be the end, it could be a topic on their table later after all, while some are clearly irritated of the drama, chewing their cusses with their cigarette butts, making point on how foolish that person is. Certainly there were also the few stern individuals refusing a gawk, looking straight to where they're headed, as if a single glance would fire them at work. And those that seemed too pure and soft for what's about to happen; covering their gaped mouth with their palms, pressing their crucifixes on their chests and uttering prayers.
     All the little things seemed louder and clearer than ever. Every small thing puts pressure, competing to be noticed. The overlapping thousands of things in one sight up there is overwhelming, as if joining in would only eradicate yourself out of existence. The single soul doesn't matter, but everyone and their every problem does.
     The height of the building is quite the kind. Seen from the park where people jog, walk with their dogs and mothers pushed their strollers. From the busy bank where people continue to come and go. From the small city chapel ringing its morning bell. To the port loading cargo ships with seagulls flying over the cranes. And from the Lilly's Joy Bakery, they can glimpse him. Or her? No one knew. Doesn't matter. As long as it is a being with a beating heart that'll stop any moment later.
     A few minutes after the people grouped themselves to stare and wait to witness the anticipated tragedy only the people on the neighboring buildings of hotels, publication companies, banks, call center offices, noticed the people on the streets all looking up and gandering to the same direction. With curiosity they as well raised their windows, moved apart their curtains, and peaked on their blinders; couldn't afford to spare any more second to miss the antecedent of the strange morning commotion.
    The city morning is noisy and familiar, but today is also certainly eerie. Unlike yesterday, nor any other day. The wind utterly still, and as if the day the of those who'll see the fall will sure be jinxed.
     Do it asshole!
     Don't do it!
     Come down!
     For God's sake!
     Were the only variations of the cheers. Other than that were gasps, closed eyes, held breathes, and faint prayers.
     She on the other hand is numb. Numb of the emotions and whatever little thing, but a complex linguistic thought doesn't seem to let her breath. What's the point? What should I call myself? - No matter how much she would want to deny it, she knew, that her experience has made its way into her identity, not just in her history. She is flawed.
      'You're a flower.'
      Her chest hurts more. The flash of those oblivious lips in motion saying those sweet and intricately painful words in the middle of suppressed animations and fluttering light, in her closed wet eyes, burned in her memory that will seemingly stay even after her body and soul sail down to crash. Those memories were anything but a savior, yet she stood firmly. Among the emotions rippling, not wanting to take any part of this living world anymore clouded everything. Hearing those words again, she was never more sure.
     Leaning over with only her hands on the railing her lifeline to this world, the people saw it. She'd done it! Some closed shut their eyes. Some blessed themselves. Waiting for the nowhere thump, they slowly opened their eyes. Way above there was movement. It was her garment getting tossed by the cheeky wind, as if she herself was the flag of death. Displayed up there for the world to see.
     Fear of height was nowhere to found in her heart, better yet fear of falling. She had experienced it multiple times. Her soul has shattered long ago. All that's left are broken pieces, wounding whatever's left in there. Leaving her bleeding throughout all these years.
     Now everybody just stood. Silent. No jeers. No chatters. No movement. No clattering plates. No business phonecalls. No nothing. It felt magical. And not. Even those who wanted to witness the drama. Speechless. As if the world has united all together for the first time, for a great show to come. This was her moment. The hundred storey building her stage. Without a count, everyone knew. The watchers below pulled in their breathes all at once. As if it was practiced for this very moment. The girl above sailing out to depart from this world seemed like an unexplainable thing, yet familiar even. Every second seemed important, and at the same time useless.
     She was fluttering like a petal of flower falling until her last moment. Beautiful. No one uttered, but everyone saw. Everyone knew.
     Out she went.