Sudden Stop

Classic Rock Man

The Sudden Stop

It was one of those bright sunny days that sent a person over the edge, and I don’t mean in a metaphorical sense either. I’m proposing to you that I am currently falling off a 110 story building, and a great trepidation is beginning to settle in my stomach. The panic sent a jolt of raw terror throughout my whole body, and time began to slow down. A million questions were going through my head; Why can’t I remember anything past last night? Why am I here? Had I been so heavily intoxicated and decided to do a cordless bungee jump? Had I failed to pay a certain loan shark in time? Did Chris find out about me and his wife’s affair? No time to mull over these questions. I still had to find a solution to my current predicament, and that meant thinking rationally.

Once that shard of crystallized fear dropped into the vast ocean that is my gullet, I regained my composure and began to clear my head. Okay, gotta think on the fly. I chuckled. Good one Joe. Be resourceful, use your surroundings. Glancing to my left, I see an office with a woman giving a panicked look, staring straight at me. Somewhere, a cup of coffee was about to spill its contents in slow motion. On the wall was a little sign ‘You are now at floor 108.’ A long way down- I still have time. I began performing my own rendition of a fat man diving off a skyscraper while trying to grab onto a ledge. I squirmed and swam my way closer to the building until my hand could almost reach a berm. Just a little more.

Unfortunately, I was not an expert on mass and weight, despite having plenty of both. My hand latched onto a berm and for a fleeting moment I thought I’d finally done it, until it completely ripped off my hand at the wrist with a sickening pop. I screamed as loud as I could, shouting profanities at whatever sick god decided to throw a 190 pound man out of a skyscraper. My hearing returned like a train whistle, my screams, however, were unhearable over the rushing wind. It reverberated in my eardrums like a bomb mid explosion but never showing signs of stopping. I hold my bloody stump as I spin in a spiral, giving me a full degree look of my surroundings. The cold sunlight reflected off the glass pane, making me wince, and for a brief flash I saw the elevator sign, ‘Floor 53.’ I realize it’s too late to do anything.

Im out of time. Heh. I guess that’s one way of summing up my life. I never was a philosopher, but a useless degree in journalism exposed me to Descartes, who had succinctly defined what I’ve always known- That hell is other people. And let me tell you, hell is now looking at me with it’s plethora of confused and scared faces from that office window. I could only conjure up a broad smile and a thumbs up, forgetting that I had just lost my right hand. Great job Joe, scare those people, like you scared away your daughter. What was it again? Alcoholism? No one really cared for it at all. ‘You are now at floor 27.’ Who cares.

The D.M.T and adrenaline induced haze is beginning to fade, and my mind begins to speed up. My thoughts drift back to earlier this morning with new found clarity. Then it hit me. The reason why I was up there in the first place: Nobody pushed me, or drugged me or threatened me, it was just me. I jumped because I wanted to leave it all behind. I tilt my head up to get one last glance. What I saw haunts me in a peculiar way- It was a child, wide eyed and unaware of the seriousness of my situation, flashing me with his buckless smile that emanated pure happiness. I have never forgotten those curious days as a child when everything seemed right in the world, and how we looked at everything with such naive eyes. Seeing things that we didn’t understand that made it much more mysterious, and I longed for that mystery one more time. The same mystery that vanished so many years ago, snuffed and gone like a dwindled dream.

Maybe falling off a building in New York City is exactly where I wanted to be. But there is no catharsis. No lesson to be learned. Except maybe, that to live, we need to die. ‘Floor 3.’ It’s not the fall that kills you. It’s the sudden stop.

cdeb

I wonder would the very last word read better as "sto..."?

Livvie

Really good...worthy of entering a Flash Fic competition.

echo beach

Most competitions don't allow entries that have already been published, including online, which is something to remember before posting work that you may want to submit somewhere.

Classic Rock Man

echo beach wrote: »

Most competitions don't allow entries that have already been published, including online, which is something to remember before posting work that you may want to submit somewhere.

Haha Im a crappy writer i only do this when extremely bored, no aspirations of being a competitive writer lmao

redser7

echo beach wrote: »

Most competitions don't allow entries that have already been published, including online, which is something to remember before posting work that you may want to submit somewhere.

I wonder would that include Write Club? I mean they would probably not have a problem with someone reading their work at a workshop/writer's group prior to submitting it.

Das Kitty

Guys, Write Club is not public facing and not searchable online. So take that as you will.

If anyone wants any of their work taken down from there or from here, for instance if you are reworking it for publication or competition, I will happily oblige.

Livvie

Classic Rock Man wrote: »

Haha Im a crappy writer i only do this when extremely bored, no aspirations of being a competitive writer lmao

Well for what my opinion is worth, I think maybe you should.

echo beach

Classic Rock Man wrote: »

Haha Im a crappy writer i only do this when extremely bored, no aspirations of being a competitive writer lmao

You should get bored more often as that is good, engaging writing. It isn't something that everybody can do so you should try to develop it, not necessarily for competitions but certainly for sharing more widely. I would happily read anything else you have.