The day I died

Disclaimer: Fiction ahead

I had made up my mind. As I got up from my desk at noon, for a split second, my hand hovered over the pen. Should I leave a note, a letter? Should I explain? No. There was no need for that. The reasons were clear enough. I didn’t want to seem even more pathetic by attempting flimsy excuses. Without another glance, I strode out of the office – my steps surer than they had ever been. Maybe that would draw attention. I slowed down my pace.

For once, I didn’t have to wait for the elevator. Was it a sign that things weren’t as bad as I thought? Or probably a sign that I should follow through with my plan? That seemed more plausible. The liftboy nodded absently at me. We saw each other at least twice a day every working day. Yet, the half-nod was all that ever transpired between us. A soft ping announced our arrival at the ground floor. Once more, I faltered. Was I really doing this? Shouldn’t I have apologised to all those I had let down? That would be a long list… no, all this was pointless now. For once I had made up my mind. And I intended to follow through with my plan.

And anyway, I didn’t want any reassurances. I didn’t want to be told ‘everything will be ok’. I knew things would be better. When I was gone. They will be grateful I did this. Maybe not immediately. After all, social mores would require them to go through the grief-anger-disbelief cycle. Eventually, they will come to see this as a blessing, I am pretty sure of that.

I made my way through groups of people huddled over coffee, cigarettes and more. My destination was a couple of lanes away; a newly constructed high-rise - largely unoccupied - overlooking an empty concrete courtyard. My plan was simple. I was going to dive headfirst from the terrace. I was going to put an end to this misery. I was going to free my wife and my parents. Nobody else mattered anyway.

I decided to climb up the 20 odd flights of stairs. Somehow, that seemed very important in that moment. I was probably convincing myself that this was a well thought out decision; that I was willing to make the effort. Or perhaps I was just buying myself some more time. Some more time for what? To chicken out at the last moment? No. I am not sure why it was so important but I was convinced I had to do this the hard way.

The first few flights went by easily. I felt calm and confident. It got tougher as I climbed higher. My feet hurt as I continued upwards, breathing harder, sweating. About halfway up, I decided to take a break and sat down to catch my breath. It amused me to think that even though I was going to hurl myself to a painful death, I still wanted to give my body a few moments of comfort. With a chuckle, I got up and continued.

I imagined how my wife would react to the news. Her first reaction would be disbelief. I wonder if she would feel any remorse for not responding to my I-love-you this morning. She was a practical woman though. I am sure she would find a rational explanation for my behaviour and move on. She could finally realize her dreams. My negativity or I would no longer hold her back. My mother would probably blame herself first. She is the kind of woman who is capable of making practically any incident sound like a personal failure! In this case however, it would not be so far fetched. If I could, I would want to let her know that this wasn’t her fault. That she had believed in me innumerable number of times. That I had let down her belief time and again. I had no delusions or hopes of an afterlife. This will be it. The end.

My father would help her cope. He is a sensible man, with no patience for emotional fools like my mother or myself. He would probably see this as an act of ultimate cowardice – proving that he was right all along – that he had fathered a good-for-nothing son. I was thinking of different occasions over the years when he had told me as much, as I reached the door to the terrace. The last time I came up here, it was locked. But it was a flimsy padlock that gave way to a swift tug. Evidently, no one had been up here since, so I walked out. Another sign.

I checked my watch – a minute to 1pm. That had taken longer than I expected! Well, it’s not like any one would notice how long I’d been gone. Would they? Brushing aside these thoughts, I made my way towards to other end of the terrace. I did not want to delay this any more. The final moment was near. 

I would probably make it to headlines of the local papers. Something like “depressed man jumps to death” perhaps? Maybe they will add some non-existent spin to the story. Just to make it a little more interesting. My real story had nothing worth reporting. I had done nothing note-worthy in the 37 years of my life. Even my failures were petty. Nothing grand about them! Such a life was pointless. I was not doing this out of anger or spite. I was not doing this out of hopelessness or depression. I was doing this because it felt right. Some people might see it as a selfish thing to do. Some people might pity me. But the minute they put down the paper, I would be out of their minds. So how did it matter what they thought.

I hoisted myself up on the three-feet protective wall between the terrace and the ledge, and gently slid down to the other side. The ground seemed closer this time. And welcoming. I knew this would hurt. I told myself that the pain would be momentary. And then, there would be peace. I realized that my sweaty palms were clutching the wall behind me. Letting go was harder than I had imagined. No time for second thoughts now. I did it all the time. I heard my wife’s voice in my head ‘you can never stick to a single decision you make’. Time to prove her wrong for once.

With an awkward jerk, I let go – hurtling towards my death – much faster than I had imagined. No…an involuntary scream escaped my lips. Stop! I was panicking. I wanted to turn back time. Frantically hoping for a miracle as the ground raced towards me. Hands and legs flailing, I desperately tried to slow down. Looked like I was going to fail, one last time. Thud. Crack.