Kill

It was night time in the city and the rain had just cleared, leaving everything sparkling wet and smelling like darkness and the brisk wind. The orange- amber glow from the streetlights reflected from some of the few clouds overhead, making the wet streets glitter in shades of orange as well.

There were few cars on the bridge over the small road below it and their headlights were reflected back and back and back again millions of times into one long continuous strip of light, red and white. The puddles were still and silent, echoing the whole world in black oil colours.

A foot descended and smashed the mirror image, sending it shimmering and swimming away like a scared bird. Water rose and clung to the trousers of the person who had just destroyed the calm and peace, but they were already as saturated as they were going to get, and it was doubtful that the person in question would have noticed anyway.

He ran through the streets until he got to the bridge, not as much panting as fighting to draw every breath, his lungs heaving and straining like a landed fish, flicking and jumping in panic. His clothes were waterlogged, clinging to his frame like a second skin, and his hair was plastered to his head in dank limp strands, sending small rivulets to run down his neck and back. He didn't care, and just leant against the wall of the bridge, trying to calm himself and get his breath back.

He was a mess, red-gold hair hanging like old string around his head, coat hanging off his shoulders, shirt turned see-through. His trousers were so wet that they were twice their normal weight and his shoes were split and gaping.

He flung his head back taking in great gulps of air, exposing cutting black/green eyes to the heavens.

He closed them in anguish and sobbed pathetically as he began to breathe semi-normally and the burn that had been run away on his mad dash to this sanctuary began to filter in from his legs and torso.

He had been running from the biggest mistake he had ever made. He was twenty, and had just asked for his girlfriend's hand in marriage. After the following party and celebration, as they had been lying in their bed, she had turned around and enfolded him in her suffocatingly dependent embrace... and had whispered another man's name into his ear. He had stared at her in horror, and had then got up, got dressed and begun walking outside. Things began to catch up to him. How young he really was, how he wasn't ready to start a family, how he didn't really want to be tied down at his age… how he had given up a chance to be with the person he really wanted to be with because it was socially unacceptable to love someone of the same sex.

How, from there, he had met his girlfriend, had gone out with her and eventually proposed to her, knowing, or thinking, that this was a safe bet. He didn't love her so he would never be able to get his heart broken by her. He just realised that, once she had made that unconscious confession in his ear, in their bed, that she too was marrying because he was 'safe', because she couldn't have who she really wanted… he had made a trap for himself and now he was just waiting to be caught in it.

The feelings of claustrophobia had overwhelmed him and he had been caught in the rain, which was the final straw. He ran out his feelings of entrapment, frustration, denial, longing, love, anger, everything else that he had been feeling or hadn't been feeling for the past few months. Ever since he had broken up with his boyfriend because he couldn't handle being gay anymore. Because it was safer not to.

And it had all gone downhill from there. His encorpsed relationship with his fiancé, his lack of enthusiasm in his job, his boredom and overwhelming exhaustion in everything else he did.

He leant against the bricks of the wall, solid and familiar in their old, green and crumbling substance, and suddenly saw the way out.

He pulled himself up, as if sleepwalking, onto the edge of the wall and stood, face still upturned to the sky. He knew that it would be a sin, but he didn't care anymore. He was damned ever since he had laid eyes on Jake. Another man who soon tore his soul apart because he sparked off moral fighting inside himself.

He was desperate and he was at the end of his essence. He had nothing left to go on with. The wind stung his eyes, the clarity of the suddenly cloudless sky making them water until he was crying. He definitely wasn't crying for himself. Definitely not.

He breathed in deeply and shakily spread his arms. He looked back up into the blank canvass of the atmosphere above him and stepped out onto nothing.

He plummeted.

He opened his eyes, somehow knowing exactly where he was.

He had tried so hard, so hard to do everything right and be who everyone else had wanted him to be, who society had demanded he be... and in the end it had killed him.

Now, he stood in front of God, waiting judgement. He knew that he hadn't been a particularly good person. He had loved another man and hadn't gone to church since he was small… and these were the insignificant things. He bowed his head, looking at his feet, filled with a feeling of shame, as a child feels when it has been bad and is now standing in front of a disappointed parent.

He felt warm and looked up slightly, afraid of what he might see. The Creator stood in front of him, visible yet unseen, magnificent in his brilliance yet comforting and so familiar that it was like coming home after a long hard trip away.

He felt so sad all of a sudden, it hurt inside when he thought of the things that he had done, and the little faith that he had had that had eventually led him to take his own life. And he was standing in front of the Ultimate father… he cried.

*Why are you crying? *

The voice wasn't spoken as much as felt.

"Be-because, I. I've been bad." He stammered out among the tears. "I haven't been the person you'd have wanted me to be." He hurt inside as an aching hollowness was carved inside him.

The figure in front of him smiled.

*Silly child. * It said in a gently amused voice. *It doesn't matter. I made you. There's nothing you can do that would stop me loving you. *

I was bored and listening to Moby's 'In This World' from the album '18'. And then this was born. Personally, I hate it. It's weak, hurried and plot less. But, for some reason, you people actually like my junk, so here you go. Something to tide you over while you wait for another fic I'm writing (and taking more time over) to come out. Keep an eye out for that (if you can be bothered)

Dead Caffeine Junkie