He wondered what it would be like. Death, that is. Would it just as grand as the church down the street says it will be? Did it have a shred of truth, or was humanity just sheltering themselves from the inevitable with a bunch of fat promises? Could death just end up being a gaping void where one ceases to exist?
He once met a man who said he had seen the other side. He described it as a neverending thunderstorm, except not quite. He never did understand what he meant by that and he never tried to. At that age he never really even considered that one day in his future he would, in fact, die. It was such a long time ago he barely even remembered the encounter or what the man even looked like.
What happened to the soul after death didn't really matter. It wasn't like he could stop it from happening. Afterlife, storm, or void, any of them were better than here. With constant regret, shame, lies, and betrayal, what was even the point for humanity to continue on? They were all stuck in an endless cycle of grief. He knew that now.
An ocean of stars was crashing above him in the midnight blue but he just couldn't see it. Most big cities can't. He could only see the moon which loomed overhead, casting silent judgement onto him. He gave a small chuckle to himself. What had gone so wrong in his life that he felt even the moon was judging him?
His legs dangled over the edge. Hundreds of feet beneath him was the cold concrete. It looked so welcoming. The rooftop was freezing and he thought for a moment how he should have worn more than a simple t-shirt.
He wondered if clothes get brought over when you die or if ghosts are just naked. That made him outright laugh into the early morning air. Naked ghosts. Wouldn't that be something?
He unfolded his palm and looked at the object previously held so tightly within. A talisman of sorts. It glowed eerily with a soft yellow light. It was hard to believe such a small thing could cause so many problems. He held it out in front of himself. It dangled dangerously on the end of its chain above the concrete below.
He loved the thrill of it. He also hated it. It was the only thing he could feel anymore. If the wind were to just come by and knock it out of his hand, letting it plummet. Would he regret ever toying with such a thing in the final seconds before it hits the ground? The risk didn't cause him to shy away, it reeled him in. It had become a game to him.
Would he be dead before the moon's end, or would he live to see sunrise once more?
Today he would live. He watched as the sky slowly got brighter on the horizon, eventually bleeding into the sun's awakening. He suddenly became very aware of the sound of traffic down below. The honking of horns was too familiar to him. It had grown on him.
He spun around from his perch on the roof. He gingerly stepped down off the ledge onto the gravel roof of the building. He heard the small rocks shift under his heavy feet. He would continue on as if this had never happened.
He heard shouting coming from an open window on one of the lower floors. A fight had broken out already today. Probably over something petty. He sighed. The talisman made its way back into his pocket as he walked back inside.
Storms and void were plausible, but life wasn't good enough to get a sequel.