Porcelain

To this day I don't know why I did it. I suppose it seemed the appropriate response at the time. I'd never considered myself a violent man. Just barely a man perhaps.

I can still see her there crumpled on the ground in that cold dark alley her eyes staring back at me, her face contorted into a mask of fear and confusion. I stayed with her. Held her until the end. Tried to tell her everything was going to be alright, even though I couldn't bring myself to believe it. The distant streetlamps gave her small, pale face an almost ethereal glow as the light caught the hot teardrops falling from her cheek.

When the life finally wrestled free from her, I cried for what felt like hours. Her still warm blood covered my hands, the deep crimson burning into my eyes like a branding iron. Suddenly, the clouds moved across the sky, the moonlight illuminating the stairwell on the outside wall of the next building. And I knew what I had to do.

I raced towards the first step, my clumsy legs pausing only to allow me a glance at the mess I was leaving behind, before hauling myself upwards. To the very top. As I reached the roof, the wind buffeted me from all sides, howling as it rushed between the buildings. I approached the ledge, and with each step my heart sank a little further, until I could see her lifeless body lying in the alleyway.

I'm sorry Andrea.

I love you.

And then I jumped.