OWL Short Stories

This is a combination of many different types of short stories. Horror, fantasy, slice of life, realism, idealism, suffering and generality. Give it a chance and critique it for me!

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3. The Fallen

The Fallen

× Warning ×

If I were to die, nothing would change. Life would continue to bustle as it did below me - cars zooming by with the uninformed as its occupants, lights would continue to go on and off in the distance, people would still walk on the sidewalk with hearing centered on the music emitted by their earbuds. All of it would continue without me. So, if I were to jump off the ledge of this building, I would only be blurred movement in their peripheral vision. And, days later, the stricken would move on.

No one would care in the long term, so why didn't I do it? No motivation, no cause to die for? I have none to live for, so I might as well. My life had been nothing more than abuse - mental strain, physical endurance, and misuse of substances that were illegal for a reason. I'd ruined my motor functions and memory. I looked just as bad as I felt - unbrushed hair, sunken cheeks, dark circles under my eyes, paled skin, stained and ragged clothing. I didn't even have shoes.

I slid my foot forward until the tips of my toes stretched slightly off the concrete ledge. Cold breezes drifted in, caressing my bare arms. The night sky above me screamed my doom with its pitch blackness, void of the dots of stars; even the moon was shielded from view. No redeeming light shown for me to gaze upon in my final moments besides from that of the non-magical city. It could only get worse if it rained.

"Do it," a voice behind me crowed. I turned to see myself standing there, glaring.

"No, don't!" Another voice of mine. That version sat on the ledge a little ways to the right.

"Why not? She clearly wants to."

"Not everyone gets what they want. Life is a precious gift."

"It's only precious when something is being done with it."

"She's living it. Isn't that good enough?"

"Depends on the standards you're measuring it by." The encourager beckoned towards me with an outstretched hand. "Is that living life to the fullest? Is that good enough? With all the drugs that has invaded her system, she might as well. She'll probably forget this ever happened in a couple of days, and she'll be right back here seeing us again."

"As long as she's breathing, that is good enough."

"It's never good enough, darling. It never really is." That version of me walked slowly towards my other version, swinging her arms around with eyes hysterically wide. In a swift motion, upon reaching her, my encourager shoved that version off the ledge.

"I am your despair, love, and I am here to make you feel better. Welcome me in," she drawled. Coldness swept through in my system, slowing my functions and thoughts. She - depression - entered me once again.

That was all I needed. I turned to face the cars below. Gradually, it got so much closer. Wind whipped my hair around, and its rigidness flew into my face.

And, soon, it all stopped.

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