I clenched my teeth as the whip slashed through the air and then my skin. The world grew hazy, blurred at the edges.
A face loomed through the mist and leveled itself to mine. Cold, slender fingers grasped my hair and my chin, forcing my face up.
The face stared at me.
“Pain is good, but death still teaches better,” it mused.
Then all was black.
The ground rushed up to meet him, faster than he had expected.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. In fact, It wasn’t supposed to end at all. He was smart. He was successful. There was, really, nothing wrong with his life. Except this end.
“Any last words?” He asked.
His cringing subconscious answered:
I look at her across my coffee. I don’t remember what it was exactly about her that piqued my interest. She doesn’t notice, too engrossed by the book that she’s reading.
Should I? But then again, I wouldn’t know what to say.
I stare, and then get up and leave.
He paced himself as he walked to the ledge, savoring every step.
How funny, he thought, that he had always been told that his first steps, taken at one, or possibly two – he couldn’t quite remember – were as straight as an arrow, an invisible line, unwavering and purposeful. Funny how things had changed.
He took one last breath and stepped off.