When angels fall…

Why do people kill themselves? I had once wondered a long time ago, after all life no matter how bad was still worth clinging to, wasn't it? But here I am standing on the edge of this tall building looking at the unforgiving ground so far below, seconds away from taking the plunge and I think I finally found the reason why anyone would commit suicide, insanity. That begs the question, am I insane? I would say yes, but then mad people never admit to being mad do they?

I really shouldn't be thinking about this, or even thinking like this. I should just go ahead and jump and get it over with, but then such things are easier said than done. Gathering courage I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the ledge, the chilly breeze blew my hair away from my face and made my clothes stick to my skinny frame and billow out behind me. Anyone looking up would have seen me, but it was early in the morning the streets were generally clear and those who were out were too much in rush to get to work to notice anything else.

My hands were shaking; I was sweating despite the chill. I needed a fix, some more drugs to make me forget, to chase away the nightmares and let me sleep. But even the drugs weren't helping anymore, they just made things worse.

I wasn't always like this, there was a time when I was mummy's little angel and daddy's girl. There was a time, a time long ago when I was seven; when I was innocent and naïve, when I believed that the people you loved lived forever, that life was all sugar, spice and everything thing nice. But that illusion was shattered the day mum came back from the hospital one Saturday afternoon with tears in her eyes. She held me and cried. Said she was going to miss her little angel. I asked her where she was going, and can't I come along?

She smiled. A sad sweet smile and said no, she had to go alone. But we'll meet again some day and until then I had to be strong and help Dad cope. I didn't understand, not until she started to slowly fade away. Like a wilting flower her health deteriorated and in less than six months she was gone, having succumbed to cancer that had been eating away her health. I cried then, harder than I had ever cried before.

After that everything changed, Dad started to come home less often and even when he was home he ignored me. He made arrangements and sent me away to boarding school so I won't be around to remind him of mum. I put on a brave face and pretended it didn't matter, I told myself I didn't need anyone; I was fine on my own. But that was a lie, there were times I would have given anything for a little affection, a kind look or a tender touch, but they were never offered to me. Instead I grew more and more distant. I cut myself off from everyone.

At eighteen I finished high school and was admitted to university a year later. I choose to major in language, since it has always been my favorite subject. I can speak fluent French and my English is impeccable. I informed my father as a matter of formality but it would not have mattered anyway because I don't think he remembered he had a daughter anymore.

Nothing prepared me for life at university. I had no prior warning that life could get so exiting and strange. That is why I made the worst mistake of my life. I fell in love. His name was Charles and he is the reason I am standing on this rooftop.

He was the first man to take interest in me in a romantic way and my one regret was that I made it so easy for him. Hurting from my father's rejection and desperate for attention I did not listen to all the warnings I was given. They told me he was a playboy, that he was cheating on me but I shut my ears and would hear none of it. He loved me and that was all that mattered. They were just being jealous, right? Wrong, and it wasn't long until I found out just how wrong.

'Charles, I am pregnant.'

'WHAT!'

'I said-'

'I heard you the first time!' His tone scared me, it was cold. Very unlike the one he used when he called me his darling, his one and only and that entire rubbish people speak when they are in love. I watched him with bated breath, believing that any time now he would smile and hug me, tell me it was alright and he was ecstatic about being a father, boy was I ever wrong!

'Whose is it?' he growled.

It was my turn to shout.

'WHAT!?'

'I asked you who the guy you cheated on me with is!' he roared, his face a tight mask of anger. I thought he would hit me, even if he had I doubt it would have hurt more than the pain I felt inside, it was as though someone had pulled my heart out and stamped on it. I stared at him in disbelief until tears burled my vision. Then I turned around and ran out of the room. All the while I kept hopping he would realize his mistake and come running after me, but he never did.

I am a big girl; I did not need to have it spelt out for me. I knew Charles had used me and the worst part was that I let him. He wasn't going to accept the baby and it was pointless to even try to talk to him about. I didn't want to see the hate burning in his eyes or listen to whatever cruel words he would hurl my way. I was on my own now and it was up to me to find a way to deal with it. There was one thing though, that I had no doubt about; I was going to keep the baby.

For a short while I was happy. I was going to have a baby! A baby I could pamper and love and totally spoil and the best part of it all was that I was never going to be alone again. I didn't tell my father, I had no idea where to start since I had never told him about Charles in the first place. I just asked him to send me some extra money which he did without asking, if there was something my father had in abundance it was money and he used it to make up for the fact that he was never there when I needed him.

I was three months along when I met Charles again. I was lying on the bed in my room trying to study for my end of semester exams in between bouts of throwing up. Apparently I wasn't one of those lucky women who never experience morning sickness and let me tell you it isn't pretty. He knocked on the door and when I opened it he produced a bouquet of roses he had been hiding behind his back. He said he was sorry about all the things he had said and that he wanted to make it up for me, could I join him for dinner? Despite my misgivings I agreed, I figured I might as well hear him out since he was the father of my unborn child it would be better if we parted ways in a less acrimonious manner.

That evening Charles was charm itself, that alone should have warned me but I was too far gone to take notice. He asked about my health, how far along I was and actually listened when I described the strain I was under. Halfway through dinner I had to excuse myself to go throw up again, when I came back I found he had ordered a soft drink for me. It will help my stop my stomach from heaving he said and I thought it was sweet of him.

When we rose from the table an hour later I wasn't steady on my feet. The room seemed to expand and shrink with every step, my head was spinning and I had a strong urge to just lie down and sleep. The last thing I saw before I fainted was Charles smiling face. When I woke up the next day, the baby was gone.

Charles left me a note. He said he knew I would never agree to an abortion so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He assured me that the doctor who performed the deed was a professional he trusted and that there would be no complications he ended by saying he had done me a favor, now I was free to go on with my life.

What life? He had taken away everything I had to live for. I walked around in a daze for days; I couldn't believe my baby was gone, taken away from me because of my stupidity. It was all entirely my fault, if only I had listened when they warned me, if only I had followed my intuition and stayed away when he came asking after me. If only… the list was endless

A month later the nightmares began. Every night when I closed my eyes to sleep I saw babies, crying, asking why I let them die. I would try to explain that it wasn't my fault, but they would only cry louder and point accusing fingers at me. I would wake up screaming and sweating. The daytime wasn't a relief either, because every child I saw had an accusing look; every pregnant woman seemed to mock my pain. And I seemed to run into them at every turn.

With every night was a torture every day a nightmare, I started drinking heavily. It helped for a while, it knocked me out long enough for me to at least get some rest but the hangovers were the worst thing to go through, every time I threw up I remembered the time I was being plagued by morning sickness and I would start crying again, then go out and get drunk. Soon alcohol wasn't strong enough; I began to dabble with hard drugs. With my father's money I was able to sustain my drug addition and it wasn't long before I was hopelessly addicted.

When I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror a stranger stared back at me. The lack of sleep and my non-existent appetite and abuse of drugs had taken their toll on my body; I lost so much weight a puff of wind could have blown me away. My eyes were sunken and the sparkle in them gone. My lips were chapped and my hair had lost it glossy shine, it hung in stray limp strands over my bony shoulders resembling a dirty mop. My thin arms were scared with needle puncture marks and my nails were long and dirty. The clothes I was wearing hung loosely on my shrunken frame. Instead of twenty two I looked forty. That was when I made up my mind to end it all.

Now here I am; forty stories above ground, with the wind in my hair and a maniacal smile on my lips. You know what I find funny? Mum used to call me her little angel. It was sweet nickname but she forgot one thing. When angels fall, they fall straight to hell. Spreading my arms wide I braced myself, she may have been right about one thing though, maybe I could fly. There was only one way to find out. I jumped.

The end