An Empty Broadcast (Appleradio)

TW: Implied Su!c!de attempt, triggering language.

Alastor stands on the roof. Right next to the edge, just a gust of wind away from falling to his death. He looks down at the freshly laid lawn hundreds of meters below him, his usually bright and enthusiastic crimson eyes glistening with tears, his thin frame shivering. He wonders what it would feel like, an internal sleep perhaps, it seemed so inviting. He was so tempted.