A fall from that height will only break your ankles… by Sebastien de Robillard

A fall from that height will only break your ankles…

Josh was on the brink of something bad. Something horrible. The night had not worked out as well as he wished, and he was looking for comfort. And not necessarily in the wrong places. In fact, the night had turned out rather well, but that didn’t seem to matter.

He had put together the evening a few months earlier, organising the bands to play. The budget for advertising was larger than usual, and he and a friend had splashed posters near and around The Fernace a few weeks prior to the event. Josh was hoping a few hundred might turn up, but would settle an even hundred.

The night had proceeded along splendidly. The rain had cleared, and the hundred or so turned up, and everyone was in good spirits. The bands played loud and were energetic, but Josh just stood still. Everyone was in good spirits. Everyone but Josh of course. Standing near the bar, he checked his watch again. He seemed to be checking it constantly he thought. Why? I have no where to go. He looked again. 9:23 PM it read. He moved away from the bar and walked round the back, to the restricted area. Up the stairs he marched towards the roof. He unlocked the door, and closed it behind him.

The night was chilly, and Josh appreciated this. He enjoyed the slight sting on his bare arms. It looked like it was going to rain. He lit a cigarette and cupped his beer tighter. Josh did not understand why he felt like he felt. Why the melancholy was consuming his body and time so much lately?

His pocket vibrated. A text from his girlfriend. Sarah was on her way, and should be there in approximately 5 minutes, it read. She wrote out ‘approximately’. Josh shook his head.

He had fluffed through the afternoon, yelling and cussing as was his regular habit. He had been excited about the show he said. He couldn’t wait for tonight he said. He can remember lying. Liar after liar after liar.

He stood on the edge of the roof. It was only one story high. It wouldn’t kill him. It would be painful, and more annoying than anything else, but it would not kill him.

His phone vibrated again. A call this time.

“Hey Josh.”
“Hey Sarah.”
“What’s wrong babe?”
“Nothing Sarah.”
“Where are you?”
“On the roof.”
“Well come down for a smoke.”
“Be there in a sec.”

And then he jumped.