Memoirs of old writing days

Bury Me After I Fall

Summary: A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain.

Inspired by: i used to have nothing and then by dirgewithoutmusic.

Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in-between.

Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who expiate their sins before going to heaven.

***

You didn't know what was going on.

You didn't feel yourself hit the ground - but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing - residue from the adrenaline.

"Why are you here?"

The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I - I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to die," You said, simply.

"Why?"

"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.

"Why now?"

"Because I wanted to."

The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"

You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."

Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.

You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.

Again. You knew this place. You've been here before. You grew up here.

You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.

"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life."

You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.

"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."

You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."