He was on the roof of the car park, 15 stories up. He found comfort in the darkness and fine, mist like rain. People stayed at home on nights like this. In front of happy chatter TV shows, with people they loved and people who loved them. Small droplets of rain merged with other small droplets and ran down his forehead into his eyes and down his cheeks. He crouched down at the edge of the roof. He watched and he waited.
The roads were empty. Other than the occasional car, speeding up the high street before disappearing, the world was still. Everything was washed in the orange glow of the street lamps. The damp pavement and wet tarmac reflected the light, creating the illusion of a watery dimension beneath the surface of the city. As he waited, senses heightened in anticipation, he listened to the silence. City silence was different from normal silence. It included the distant rumble of the motorway, like a huge conveyor belt, bringing people in and out of the city. There was also the periodic thunder of empty trains pulling into and out of the station, huge carcasses, devoid of life, apart from their drivers who at this time of night were looking forward to the end of their shifts. He swallowed two more of the blue pills that had helped to stay him awake for the last three days. They were not lasting as long now, and he knew he needed to finish this before sleep crept up and robbed him of his judgment.
The building was deserted, other than the fine rain being blown about by the gentle breeze, nothing moved. Then, from behind him, a voice like sand in a cement mixer, whispered into his ear, “ you’re here ”. His whole body tensed. He did not need to turn around; he knew this voice only too well. “I told you that you would be”, continued the voice slowly, as if taunting him with every word. “Yes I’m here”, he expleted through gritted teeth, ” here to put an end to this, I can’t take anymore”. “Is that really what you want, after I’ve done so much for you”, came the voice in the sickly sweet tones of over familiarity. The voice paused, and then erupted with the force of a guezer throwing hot water and steam high into the air. He felt the warm breath on the back of his neck and on the side of his face, as the voice hissed, “don’t be such a fucking ingrate, I’ve done everything for you, and whether you like it or not, one way or another, you will pay me what you owe.” He was scared now; he had momentarily lost control of his bladder, and could feel a warm dampness in the crotch of his trousers. He remembered the holiday he had spent in a caravan the previous year, with his wife and ten year old daughter. As a family, they spent their days playing games, going for walks and visiting rock pools and caves. He and his wife had spent the long summer evenings chatting, drinking wine, and watching the light change as the sun went down. That was the last time they had all been truly happy. The image faded from his mind, and once again, he was aware of the voice behind him, and the cold damp concrete beneath his feet and hands. His heart was beating so hard that he could feel it in his throat, and with every beat, he felt that he would wretch. The voice, once again syrupy sweet, whispered to him, “a deal is a deal, we had an arrangement. I delivered my part of the deal, and now it is time for you to deliver yours”. His body was rigid. He was so tense, that he felt his muscles aching. Then, as if a floodgate had been opened, the solution came rushing into his consciousness. He knew now more than ever, what he had to do. His limbs felt as if they would snap off, as at full stretch, he leapt from the roof of the building. As he fell, he screamed, “I will not do it”.
The next day, the local paper ran a story in the late edition:
MISSING BUSINESSMAN FOUND DEADRags to riches Businessman Eric Randall (36), who was reported missing two weeks ago, was found dead this morning. He had apparently thrown himself from the top floor of a city centre car park. A police spokesperson said today that they did not suspect foul play and would not be making further investigations into Mr Randall’s tragic death.
Despite a recent appeal from Mr Randall’s family for him to return home, he had not been seen, and his movements during the last two weeks are not known. A close friend of the family said this morning, that Mr Randall had been behaving erratically before his disappearance, and was believed to be under immense pressure, brought on by his rapidly expanding business. Mr Randall leaves a wife and ten year old daughter.|
Written by Fledermaus (3238 comments posted) 15th February 2007 | A few line breaks wouldn't hurt here. You have a very nice style and built up the tension well. I'm just curious what dark business he got involved in. It seemed that it isn't clearly mentioned, as if something was missing (unless this is only the beginning of something).
So... a good story and great style, but you could do something about the lay out and personally I'd like just a little bit more background info. |
Written by anorwegianwood (278 comments posted) 15th February 2007 | | I agree with Fledermaus. I liked the way this was written. I felt you did a nice job of creating tension without relying on stereotypes. I do think, though, that a little more info is needed. I like stories with ambiguity, but I'd like a little more detail to help my understanding. I too felt like something was missing, or like I didn't get something. |
Written by Snodlander (501 comments posted) 16th February 2007 | A modern-day Faust.
I agree, you should split this up with smaller paragraphs.
If he was on holiday last year with his 10-year-old daughter, wouldn't she be 11 in the newspaper report?
A couple of words jarred in an otherwise excellent piece. I'm not sure 'explete' is an actual verb, but if it is the verb form of expletive then it would be to utter an oath or curse. 'Yes I'm here' seemed a little tame for such a word. And 'guezer' should read 'geyser'.
Otherwise a nice short story, very Gothic. I've spent the wee hours looking down at deserted streets from rooftops. It is another world. You captured it nicely |
Written by Marybarry (237 comments posted) 16th February 2007 | I interpreted it as an insecure personality breaking under the stress of success. I would say he was schizophrenic. hearing voices ETC.
He could have been a latent schizophrenic, until success drove him over the edge!!!!!!!!
Well written. marybarry  |
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