“Damn it, why am I still here…”, he mumbled to himself. At least now he knew he was in the garden. Sitting up cost him a fair amount of willpower his limbs felt numb and gravity fought stubbornly to pull him down again as if he had been made of the same heavy stone he was resting on. Grey skies, green-colored patches here and there. He tried to make out his surroundings with a blurry vision at first. Footsteps, maybe? The young man’s eyes fluttered open. Small raindrops kept splattering on the ground. Or had he…? It felt like a bad dream, one of those in which you fall endlessly to your death and wake up right before the crash, retaining only a hazy memory of plummeting downwards. Broken and then gone… He couldn’t have seen any of that, though, as he fell from the railing with eyes wide open in shock. The remaining fragments of the vase were slowly being stained red, but it didn’t matter –soon it would all be washed off by the rain, the crimson streams, the spilt soil.
The image flashed through his closed eyelids. A vase of flowers that had already bloomed, smashed against the checkered marble floor of the balcony. “Everything will be fine if we end it early.”Ī sound of shattered glass. Had it been him pronouncing those words, pleading in a soft voice threatened to break into a cry of helplessness because of the lump in his throat? He remembered a feeling of urgency and need, a growing uneasiness creeping up his back, but it all felt distant, drowned by the feelings of cold stiffness of his drenched clothes and the hard cobblestone on which he lay. “No one will know as long as it’s handled properly.” He felt his uniform soaked and heavy on his skin. The words echoed faintly inside the young man’s mind but they were muzzled by the sound of the falling rain around him, over him.
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