(This is a piece of a short story I have been working on. More will be added if requested.)
Can you die from a ten foot fall?
I sit perched on the edge of the roof. Chilled air dancing across the flesh of my exposed skin. Narrowed eyelids sheltering my green orbs preventing the brisk chill from spilling forth tears of winter. The brittle tremor of dying leaves clinging to a nearby tree branch mock the shaky breaths of my ragged lungs. Quite possibly the soul of the deceased Marlboro Man dwells within me. His tar covered soul having coughing fits of laughter that seem to reverberate against every nerve within my body. Or perhaps it’s just anxiety. At any rate I will deny these tremors the sweet release of dopamine brought forth from the gentle suckle of a cancer stick... One part ammonia. 2 parts cyanide. And approximately 4,000 other parts of unpronounceable carcinogens. Mix them all together and wrap in paper. Mmm…I salivate just thinking about it.
What was I doing up here? Ah, yes. Cleaning the gutters.
As I glance down the length of the aluminum troth of decomposing plant matter I cant help but think over the past two years. How could something so alive and so free allow itself to be trapped in such a manner? Seemingly no means of escape. To just sit there as the stress of life piles upon you. The only option to wither and collapse under the pressure.
I plunge my hand deep into the cold recess of the sloppy stench that oddly resembles a pile of feces. I immediately jerk my hand out and shake away the clinging remnants of shit life has piled upon me. Wouldn’t it be better to just let it stay where it is? Stay buried within the confines of the gutter?
My ears perk as I hear a car approach and come to a halt. The sweet release of another distraction allowing me to forget the mess that has piled up before me. As I look down upon the car parked along the curbside I cant help but ponder things from Gods perspective. But alas I tell myself…I do not believe in God. But why do I capitalize his name then? And how can you explain the devil itself. Balthazar, Satan, Lucifer…The Prince of Fucking Darkness emerging from my parents back seat disguised as a blonde twelve year old boy! Surely the devil wouldn’t disguise himself as a blonde. Surely a fiery redhead would be more appropriate? Then I think about my past two girlfriends. Okay. Logic, zero. Devil, one. Does he always win? Sure he does. Just watch the nightly news.
There is an opposite for everything. You cant have good without evil. Light without dark. There has to be a God.
I begin to feel sorry for God. Does he feel so helpless as well as he looks down upon this family? I look upward because that is where God resides...Right? No answer. He must not be home. You would think he would have returned a call by now. Or perhaps have a more reliable messaging service.
My gaze is drawn back to the trio walking towards the house. My gaze lands upon Lucifer. Fuck…Don’t make eye contact. Too late…. Shit…. I submit. I scramble back to the gutter of life and send another unanswered payer upward. “Please God. Allow Satan himself to become engrossed in another couple hours of mindless killing on his Playstation game. Please don’t let him find his way up here” Many tense silent moments go by.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch glimpse of a bird flying south. Why is it alone? Maybe it woke up late. I bet it was a crow. Do crows fly south?
Suddenly the soft patter of size six shoes can be heard scrambling across the roof. I bravely look upward and meet his gaze peering curiously over the peek of the roof analyzing my current situation. I look to the sky and leave another message with God‘s answering service. This time more to the point. “Dickhead.”
Should I play dead? Maybe he will lose interest. Should I jump? Uhm…I have yet to answer the first question I asked. Quickly I busy myself with cleaning the gutters. Surely this will entice boredom to reveal itself and detour Lucifer. My hand once again plunges into the muck of decay. With a scooping fashion I begin to rid the gutter of its fecal filling.
Suddenly the shadow of darkness consumes me. Satan is upon me. His voice echoes loudly through my senses as he speaks. “That smells like shit!” He exclaims oddly enough sounding like a child who’s voice is suffering from the cracking reluctance of change. Did Satan get his first pube? I look up not quite meeting his gaze and reply. “Isn’t everything foul your doing? Everything wrong in this world your fault?” Satan furrows his brows and kneels before me. His tiny hand scoops into the muck and holds a pile of guilt before me. “I only tempt you asshole. You make your own choices and when you fuck up you get in line and wait for God to forgive you.” He tosses the pile of muck over the edge of the roof. We both watch it as it splatters onto the pavement below. “Besides…” He motions to the length of gutter. “This is guilt.” Satan points upward. “He deals in guilt.”
I continue scooping and tossing away God’s guilty gutter filling. Pondering Satans words I watch as a pile of guilt splatters onto the ground. For many moments I became lost in my thoughts. I smile wide realizing after many long moments I have come to the end of the gutter. I look back and see the length of guilt has been cleaned. I grin at Satan. “So I will trudge forth. I will dispose of this guilt and wade through the muck of decay. I will right what is wrong and get myself back on track.” Satan shrugs softly. His reply simple and to the point. “You still have the other side to do dumbass.”
I let out a deep sigh and move to the other side. Kneeling before the gutter I look down to the ground once more and ponder an answer to my first question….
Maybe if I dive.
