a day in the life.

He sits dangerously close to the edge, leering and peeking and wanting to know what's down there. He turns to his friend, sitting just a few meters away. "Should we do this?" He asks thoughtfully, kicking his feet back and forth.

The friend stares at him, unsure. "Are the guys ready?"

They both look back and see a line of other creatures, similar like them, all two dozens of them. Stretching, bunny hopping, buzzing with excitement, getting ready to make another free fall.

"We wait for the cue," the friend decides solemnly with a nod. He agrees silently and relaxes, slouching in his seat. As usual, he gets the regular feeling of guilt as he looks down again. But what could he do? It was his job; it has always been. I promise you'll feel much better when I'm done, he whispers. This may hurt, but you'll be relieved afterwards. He has long stopped finding out the cause; all he needs to do is make a thousand silent apologies each day.

Suddenly, a jerking movement lurches him forward and he grips the edges fearfully. His eyes widen and he looks at his friend, who grins back at him. "Ready?"

"Race you to the finish line," he says with a wicked smile. For a while his smile falters when he hears the familiar sound of something breaking in the distance- the infamous signal. He squeezes his eyes shut. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he keeps repeating. I know it hurts. But you'll be fine. I promise you. Everything will be alright. With the mantra echoing in his lips, he counts to three and let himself go.

Further, further down. Down the smooth surface. He feels the whoosh of air, the feeling of complete freedom, as he freefalls to the ground. He glances beside him and sees his partner racing and passing him by. Behind him he can hear his friends jumping down,shouting joyfully. What an ironic contrast to the heart-breaking sound of wailing somewhere out there far, far away. He doesn't need to look, but he knows that some of his friends had disappeared mid-air to a land of nothingness, vanishing into thin air with just a swipe of hand. That's normal- out of twenty four, usually only two or four of them survive.

He lands safely down and feels the familiar feeling of scattering away. He quickly reassembles himself and makes a brave decision to glance up. The sight always squeezes his heart.

I'm sorry, he wants to scream. I'm sorry you have to go through this but I need you to trust me. My friends and I are here to make you feel better which you will. I promise you, you will.

Sometimes he cannot stand his job. Sometimes he doesn't want to fall; but it's the default system installed in him that forces him to. Unable to look up anymore, he tears his eyes away.

Sometimes he wants to know her. He wants to let her know how angry he is at the person who forces him jump down. But most of all, more than anything else, he wishes that the next time he jumps, it will be for a completely different reason for her.

The thought calms him down. He stands up straight and walks back to the end of the line, queuing behind his friends to climb up again. In the queue, an officer is passing out the assignment paper. "OK, what's next for me?" He asks, desperately hoping to hear some good news.

"A farewell." The officer shrugs and moves down the line.

 The words are like gunshots to his ears as the worst eight-letter words he ever encounters sinks him into despair. He can take fights. People yelling in anger, hurling hurtful comments at each other. Words so full of venom he shivers when he hears it. He can even handle breakups.

But not a farewell.

Not that infamous bittersweet feeling that squeezes the air out of your lungs the minute the other person walks away, the minute you hold them and realize you won't even feel their comforting presence anymore the next day. Not that feeling when the memories and images flash like film rolls in your mind knowing that things will never be the same. Not  the contraction in the chest.  The feeling of losing something and having that thing taken away that leaves you gasping for air frantically, because you just realize the thing that usually calms you down is the one whose engine just roared off your driveway. For good. 

Gloomily he clutches his assignment in hand and moves an inch forward in the queue. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach that he would require a hell more than just two dozens friends for this.

*** End ***