He ran towards the window but before he could take the two steps to jump, it flashed through his mind. He could see his body slamming into the glass, the glass shredding his skin and metal twisting into his eye. He was to be blinded and still slipping into darkness, still falling. He could see a blood red sky as he turned his back towards the ground and screamed, the scream was cut, and the fence was red, as red as he saw the sky. Color faded to darkness.

He snapped out of the thought but it was too late, he tried to brace himself from hitting the window, but with his arms stretched out it shattered the glass shredding his skin, his left hand snapped upon bending metal, he saw the bar and closed his eye, and screamed as cold steel ran through his skull. His body turned to the right after the metal ran through his skull, when he did this the metal slid out as it was still attached to the window frame. He opened his working eye to the blood red sky and screamed her name, it wasn’t because of her that he did this; it was because he was a sacrifice, a sacrifice to the faith of pain.

He wasn’t a cutter, his skin as clear as day, he wasn’t emo his, for his joy filled the heart of others, he was a palm tree. He was just something others used to lean on forever bending to the wind of their emotions. He was a little mail box where everyone sent their letters of pain and joy. He was tired of it; the mail was to be blown up, the tree to snap under the brutal force of pain and sorrow. He never thought about this before, it was just now, just today, this moment that it bombarded into his head, an epiphany. He thought he was dreaming when he thought of pain, but he wasn’t. His world had just crashed over him, Atlas with Achilles heel, a star consumed by a supernova, and a boyfriend to the sweet whims of emptiness.

It only hit him now because he was 65 and he had watched his life waste away to nothing, he had no girlfriend, no wife, no daughter, nor a son to carry on the angel’s blood within him. He strove to live by the presence of others because of all his losses. Because of everything he was, he meant everything to the world, an angel, a hero, a star, a friend. He was everything but a lover. To everyone he was a falling star upon where wishes came true, he thought the same. A falling star, falling without stopping, without anything to slow it down. Flaming blue tail of fire, just as beautiful and pure as was his soul. Now his soul was tainted, he thought back to her face, the face that haunted him for 47 years.

He screamed her name, but her name was left unfinished drifting in the tainted wind. Crystal clear tears were unseen for they mingled with the red beads of blood. It covered the fence, stained it with death and murder. It wasn’t suicide, it was murder, murder of a fate upon an angels shoulders.

He was a sacrifice to bear the pain of others so they may continue to exist.