The Edge

Somewhere in the city, a man fell to his death.

When someone dies, they don't come back. That's not how it works, not in New London, not anywhere.

But when the rules don't apply to one man, can he really be safe?


2. The Fall

He had been pushed - he knew that much - and frankly he couldn't care less about whom the hand had belonged to, knowing only that he'd seen red before he hit the concrete floor. He'd stopped remembering who he'd offended somewhere in the mid 1300's, and petty things like revenge no longer meant anything to him. But this time, reaching out and trying to tug on one of the strings of his now torn and bloodied hoodie (he hated when they were uneven) and his hand passed straight through - which he knew it would - he felt a strange pull from his right big toe.

Pulling off his non-corporeal shoe to look at his non-corporeal big toe, he winced as he saw a black string tied around it.

Now ordinarily, a soul should have some form of tie to the "afterlife" as it were. However, this young man only knew how to die and come back, not what the threat of complete annihilation meant - especially not for a soul who had never truly been dead. He'd been playing the system, defying God if there was one, and he'd never had a string before. Now even though he had had enough practice to be completely in control of his emotions, he still felt that tightening in his core that resounded through him: Dread. It thrummed down the string, lighting up in different colours - he'd always heard about Synesthesia, but was surprised to be finding that it appeared to be true.

Dread was a cold, blue colour.

Looking up at the clouded sky, turned a sick, mouldy coffee colour from the lights pulsing in the city below, the man took a deep breath, with no thick air entering his lungs.

Ah, yes, he noted, glancing back down to regard his paling corpse, you can't breathe with no lungs. Satisfied in the knowledge that he was indeed dead, he slowly stood, glanced at his watch, rolled his eyes at his no longer functioning timepiece, and instead glanced towards one of the projected screens of the clock tower, its eerie blue glow casting a brighter colour against the deadened sky.

By his calculations, he'd only been dead for about 5 minutes.

The man glanced upwards again, noting the height of the building, thinking how long it might take someone to reach the lobby, and then set off at a jog down the alleyway he'd so graciously landed in.

He needed to find his murderer.

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