Shadow Things

XXI

The wind blew harshly over the high-rise, catching the flaps of Hansel's open shirt and working steadily to force it off his shoulders. The black tee he wore underneath stuck to his stomach with sweat, just like how his hair clung to his scalp beneath the black cap. His worn shoes toed the lip of the roof, sixteen stories above the ground, and his hands trembled feverishly at his sides.

From where he stood, he could see a good distance in every direction. The streets were laid out below him like the paths of a circuit board, stretching and bending between blocks of empty, sunburnt buildings. There was no one on the streets, and every building closest to him were abandoned, having been vacated by their residents during the initial shadow outbreak. He had chosen a deserted part of the city on purpose. He didn't want to be watched in his final moments.

There weren't any shadows on the streets either; at least not as far as he could see. Griffin must have followed through his promise for a ceasefire. Now there was only one thing left to be done.

Hansel clasped his hands together, crushing his fingers in an attempt to stop them from shaking so much. He frowned behind his mask.

He didn't think he was scared; not really. Death did not scare him. So why couldn't his hands be still? Why was his heart beating so frantically? Why was he hesitating; standing on the edge but not taking that one decisive step forward?

He had cut his wrist without a second thought, but why was this hard?

In the end, why was it that he could not make himself jump?

Needing a distraction Hansel dug out his phone from his pocket. Was there something he should do now? Should he perhaps send a text to his parents? But what would he write? That this was goodbye? That he was sorry? But now that he thought about it, he no longer had anything he wanted to tell his parents.

He turned on internet connectivity in his phone. Quickly, his message box started pinging with notifications of incoming messages. Most of them came from unknown ids; strangers he knew nothing about. Hansel needn't read them all to get the gist of what they were saying. Everyone wanted him to die.

Where are you? Some asked.

Where do you live?

If murder was allowed, I would kill you already. I want to live, and conveniently, I heard you were an asshole.

Hansel closed his eyes. This was square one. This was déjà vu. This was returning to the beginning of a cycle.

The last time this had happened he had acted like a coward. He had run away. But this time he would not. This time he would take responsibility.

This was his last chance to redeem himself.

He will not hide anymore. He will do the hard thing. He will set things right.

His wrist went weak. The phone slipped out of his hand. It dropped towards the street like a stone. It hit the ground in mere seconds, then splintered like a hunk of slate. Hansel could barely hear the sound of it breaking over the pounding in his ears.

That fast. His breathing hiked. His death was going to be that fast.

It should have relieved him, how quickly death might claim him, instead Hansel found himself succumbing to paralysis. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

Don't think.

Don't think about it. Just do it. Just jump.

His entire arms were quavering now. His pulse was lightning in his veins. His knees wobbled. His teeth drew blood from his lips. His vision blanked.