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It isn't like he'd never thought about it before.
He sat on the hood of his car and stared at the ocean waves, far, far below him. He had parked on the bluff overlooking the beach, but rather than follow the steep stair down, he opted to sit and watch the water churn and smack the shore. He had become hypnotized by the ocean's assault on the sand. Advance. Retreat. Advance. Retreat.
He stood, slurped down the last of his soda, and chucked the can to the ground. His eyes narrowed into a harsh squint and looked at crests of the waves. The moonlight glinted off them like blinking sea of stars stretched out before him. He closed his eyes, saying a few words to himself, opened his eyes and took a running start.
Foot over foot, through the dust and grass he ran, his Chuck Taylors propelled him quickly towards the edge of the bluff. His toes were sure and unstumbling, and with uncounted quicksteps, he found the last bit of turf, and launched into the empty air, his arms spread wide.
There was a moment of fear, which passed quickly. He looked below him, still squinting, and saw nothing but stars, blinking in and out of existence. He smiled, a big toothy grin as the sound of rushing air filled his ears.
The police were baffled when they found his car the next day. There was no note, no sign of struggle. His keys were still in the ignition, The Decemberists crooning on his CD player. The only sign that he had been there were the empty soda can, and some footprints leading to the edge of the cliff.
There was one witness, some old man who had been walking his dog that night. He saw a young man standing, staring at the ocean. The old man had turned and bent over to collect his dog's droppings in a bag, and when he turned back, the young man had gone.
His mother had filed a missing person's report. He had missed dinner the night before, hadn't called, and that was very unlike him. She got worried, and called the police. They scoured the beach, searched the ocean for his his remains, made flyers, and TV ads, looking for information to his whereabouts.
They never found a body. There wasn't one to find.
It's not like he wanted to die. He wanted something different. He wanted out of this world, this mundane existence. So he found it on a sea of stars.
It isn't like he'd never thought about it before.
© Anthony Robinson
He sat on the hood of his car and stared at the ocean waves, far, far below him. He had parked on the bluff overlooking the beach, but rather than follow the steep stair down, he opted to sit and watch the water churn and smack the shore. He had become hypnotized by the ocean's assault on the sand. Advance. Retreat. Advance. Retreat.
He stood, slurped down the last of his soda, and chucked the can to the ground. His eyes narrowed into a harsh squint and looked at crests of the waves. The moonlight glinted off them like blinking sea of stars stretched out before him. He closed his eyes, saying a few words to himself, opened his eyes and took a running start.
Foot over foot, through the dust and grass he ran, his Chuck Taylors propelled him quickly towards the edge of the bluff. His toes were sure and unstumbling, and with uncounted quicksteps, he found the last bit of turf, and launched into the empty air, his arms spread wide.
There was a moment of fear, which passed quickly. He looked below him, still squinting, and saw nothing but stars, blinking in and out of existence. He smiled, a big toothy grin as the sound of rushing air filled his ears.
The police were baffled when they found his car the next day. There was no note, no sign of struggle. His keys were still in the ignition, The Decemberists crooning on his CD player. The only sign that he had been there were the empty soda can, and some footprints leading to the edge of the cliff.
There was one witness, some old man who had been walking his dog that night. He saw a young man standing, staring at the ocean. The old man had turned and bent over to collect his dog's droppings in a bag, and when he turned back, the young man had gone.
His mother had filed a missing person's report. He had missed dinner the night before, hadn't called, and that was very unlike him. She got worried, and called the police. They scoured the beach, searched the ocean for his his remains, made flyers, and TV ads, looking for information to his whereabouts.
They never found a body. There wasn't one to find.
It's not like he wanted to die. He wanted something different. He wanted out of this world, this mundane existence. So he found it on a sea of stars.
It isn't like he'd never thought about it before.
© Anthony Robinson
