A Series Of One-Shots [REQUESTS OPEN]

The Window View [not LGBTQ+]

Original story - 2014

Gen, written for a competition. 

****WARNINGS FOR MENTIONS OF SUICIDE****

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The Window View

Originally, back when I was naïve and optimistic, I thought this promotion was a blessing bestowed upon me from a higher power. Along with the significant pay rise came a beautiful office. I was almost overwhelmed when I had walked into it first. A large glass desk equipped with a computer I was unaware that had even been released yet, a slim line phone and a stack of files. Surprisingly, as I sat back in the soft leather chair, the files on the desk didn't seem daunting at all. I had this beautiful office after all. 

If I turned my chair right around, I could spy on the birds, the neighboring buildings and the hustle and bustle on the streets below. It was fascinating, really. Watching life go on beneath me as I settle back, all snug in my office. I was wholeheartedly content. The pay raise was benefitting my family well and, although I had less time to spend with them, we were all better off.

This happy illusion lasted for around about a month. Then I saw the first one. A day just like any other, I was watching a traffic pileup happen on the streets below when I saw her. At first, I thought my eyes were playing a cruel and inhumane trick on me. But after a few moments of rapid blinking, there was no mistaking of what I was seeing. 

My heart had leapt in my chest as it dawned on me what was going to happen in the next few moments. 

I hadn't a clue what to do. 

I wasn't trained for this. 

Did I open the window? 

Did I call someone for help? 

No. I stood there, frozen on the spot.

I saw her jump. I saw her fall. I was too high up to hear the impact their body had on the pavement below, but I saw their previously wrinkle free suit quiver as she fell through the air. I saw her long red hair trail out behind her, rippling through the air like wispy ribbons. But I did not see her face. I did not see whether she was smiling or crying. I didn't know whether she was at peace or not. I didn't know whether she wanted that faith for herself or felt forced into it. For days I was plagued with these questions and yet I found no answers. 

A staff meeting was held in her honour a few days after the incident – only granting us a few minutes of silence to grieve. 

I watched the faces of my colleagues, noting that none of them looked sorrowful or affected by her death in any way. Then I suddenly realized that none of them actually knew the woman. They may have seen her walk around the office, maybe shared a few short moments talking over coffee about their work. 

But none of them really knew her. 

And neither did I. 

Then why did I feel as though I was the only one grieving over her?

Life continued as normal and I threw myself into my work, spending more and more time at the office and less and less time at home. My family understood, they were just content with me having a job. I slept in my office some nights. I always slept in my chair, having it facing the window. My career thrived. I was in my element here. I knew what I was doing. The never ending pile of work distracted me from any thoughts I was previously plagued with.

Eleven months after the first incident came a second. I happened to be drinking a scalding hot cup of coffee when it happened. I remember this minor, insignificant detail because the suit is currently hanging in my wardrobe with a stubborn stain on it. 

No matter how much I scrubbed or washed or steeped or ironed, the stain would not come out. 

So I gave up on it – throwing the suit into the back of my wardrobe, never to be spoken of again. Quite like the suit, this incident was never spoken of again. But that never did stop me from thinking about it. It was another woman that time, although this one looked more confident than the first. Maybe because when she sidled across the thin ledge of my window she didn't stumble or shake. Maybe because when I rushed to the window and she noticed me, she smiled.

I saw her jump. I saw her fall. I saw her land. With tears streaming down my face, I emptied my stomach into the nearest bin after seeing her body land in an unnatural sprawl on the ground below. Again, a staff meeting was held in her honour. Again, I saw the faces of my colleagues, all void of emotion for this woman. Again, life continued on. But I didn't

Again, I indulged myself with my work. Even more so than the first time. My family started to comment on it on the rare time I did come home. They commented on how I was always tired, how I lost weight and how I never attempted to spend any time with them. But I ignored their pleas for me to quit or to find a less time consuming position. I could not resign; I could not step down from my position.

I could not lose that office.

The third incident came a year later. This time, I did not witness it happening. They decided not to pass my window, but to pass his own. Unlike the other two, I actually knew this man. He occupied the office beside mine, a precise replica of my own. A large desk, comfy chair and a window view. 

The very view which was the last thing he ever saw. 

That time, I attended the funeral service. 

It wasn't a very large affair, only a few people present. But their cries were loud enough to embed themselves in my head and replay for weeks afterwards. It is only now, after many weeks of mulling over the subject, that I realize that he must have witnessed the two women. They had passed my window and jumped from the gap between his and my own. He must have seen it all and decided to experience it himself.

That's what shook me the most. 

No matter what questions I asked, I could not find out why any of those three misguided souls decided that faith for themselves. 

It was over a period of time that I realized that I could not go an hour without thinking about them. 

Work became unbearable and I fell behind. 

My family was insufferable and I usually slept in the office to escape their vicious wrath. Not that I slept much anyway. I was plagued by nightmares of the jumpers. I shut my eyes and I saw the tendrils of red ribbons trailing out behind her, I saw the sad smile she gave me, I saw his coffee mug still stored in the cupboard of the staff kitchen. I saw too much. I wanted to tear my eyes out, to unsee everything I witnessed. I felt suffocated everywhere I went and I cried a lot more frequently.

It wasn't a rash decision. It was actually quite prolonged. I had to think of the ins and outs, the pros and cons. Even making a list helped. The ins outmatched the outs and the pros outweighed the cons. I chewed over my makeshift decision for a few days before fully deciding on it. Once I became committed I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from me. Even as I write this my lips are stretched to their very limits in pure glee. 

It is only now that I know all the answers to my questions. 

They wanted that faith as much as they were forced to want it. They were happy knowing that they would be free soon. 

I understand that now. 

Another staff meeting will be held, another moment of silence, another funeral and yet another jumper from this to add to the list. What you decide to do after this letter is found is up to whoever found it. It doesn't matter to me what you do. 

I will just be another jumper to the list. 

Another bodiless, genderless and nameless jumper. 

For that precise reason, I will not sign my name. After I step out onto that ledge and plunge into the pavement below, all I am is another jumper.  I've been a jumper ever since I got this office. I've probably been a potential jumper before I even applied for this job.

The window view just brought that fact into a clear perspective. 

*

Wow, 16 year old me was angsty.