《Call of the Void》L'appel du vide

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Midnight. It had been raining all day. Puddles forming by the sidewalk. Soft yellow street lights forming islands of warmth, a reprieve from the biting cold. A man with an umbrella walks along the street. The occasional taxi passing by, nightclubs spilling their neon welcomes onto wet pavement. The man seems indifferent to the world around him. To the lights, the cold, the wet. The lone figure walks until he reaches an unkempt apartment complex, a government project of some sort. The rain had let up now. Folding his umbrella, he climbs the stairs with purpose and a hint of resignation. Tear marks streak his face. As he reaches the top, he lights a cigarette. The smoke wafting away gently. He takes his time, savoring every inhale. Our lone figure walks to the edge of the parapet. Umbrella cast aside, he grunts in effort as he climbs onto the edge. A good 300 feet stares our guy in the face. Without warning, he gently leans forward. His body tipping over the edge. Below, life goes on. Residents of the area sound asleep, comfortable in their warm beds. Unaware of what had happened. The rain starts to pick up again.

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