Hello future readers! Welcome to our site. Generally, there won’t be an author’s note at the beginning of each post (though that will just be the author’s choice), but since this is the first, just thought I’d give a shout-out to whoever takes the time to read our first post! Thank you and have a wonderful day.
Myra Isby was falling.
The roof of the building was gritty, gravel and cigarette stubs crunching underfoot while shards of broken glass from long abandoned beer bottles gleamed in the last rays of early morning dawn. A hush was drawn over the city, a nervous expectation in the air was everyone waited for the rows of buildings to explode with the usual sound, but for now, everyone tread softly, unwilling to be the first to break the early morning silence. A soft breeze played with Myra’s hair, throwing it into her eyes almost as if mocking her as she stared down at the little people living their little lives, all too busy to look up and see a cold girl clutching her jacket around herself as she gazed down on them.
She wished, if only for a second, for a pair of wings so she could fly. Fly far away from this pain that was eating her from the inside out, so maybe her escape wouldn’t end in her untimely departure from the living world.
“Myra,” a voice asked hesitantly. “What are you doing?” Myra whirled around, the blood draining from her face, her hands clasping and unclasping anxiously. She stared at him and his messy hair, memorizing the curves of his face and color of his eyes just like she had so many times before, an aching familiarity threatening to swallow her whole. She blinked for a moment, the world going blurry as her eyes burned with unshed tears.
“Stay back!” Myra shouted, her voice cracked and trembling. She flinched when she took a step backwards, knocking a small pile of gravel over the edge and the cacophony of falling stones echoed the fear in her bones.
“Come here, Myra.” Celik said softly, the familiar cadence of his voice washing over Myra. “Come away from the edge,” he pleaded, his hand outstretched and his eyes fixed on hers as if willing her to come back to safety. Myra didn’t move, frozen, as if time had stopped as she stared back at Celik with her cold, cold eyes.
“You,” Myra started, before swallowing hard. “You made your choice.” Celik recoiled as if slapped, a hurt expression stealing over his face.
“I was wrong,” he said desperately. “I was wrong, Myra, please. Come back to me.”
“No.” She said softly to herself before repeating it, louder. “No. You were right, you were right all along. Too desperate, too needy, you were always right.” She laughed humorlessly. “I was just too blind to see it. Funny, isn’t it? That’s what love does, it blinds you.”
“Myra,” Celik said firmly, his hand still outstretched. “Please, you still have a life, filled with people who care about you, who are willing to be there for you and-” Myra cut him off with a sharp glance, folding her arms.
“A life? I still have a life? You were my life, Celik,” she said, her voice trailing off to a whisper. Celik looked at her for a brief moment, before turning away.
“Always with the dramatics. They all were right.” He snapped over his shoulder, “Some people just don’t want to be saved,” he said almost sadly, the door closing behind him with a bang, like the ending of something big. Myra watched the door swing shut, longing to run after him, but she didn’t. She stood in place, feeling the warmth of tears running softly down her cheeks.
“Goodbye, iadala,” she whispered, her hands shaking and her heart beating out of control.
She took a step forward.
And she was falling.
The ground rushed up to meet her, smears of gray and green flooding her vision until she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She remembered someone telling her that the fall never killed anyone. Falling, it was like flying, the rush of wind in her ears and the adrenaline buzzing through her veins. Falling was beautiful to Myra Isby, because she no longer had to be in control. She no longer had a choice. Falling never killed her, it was the sudden stop, bones grinding into the pavement, the splattering of blood and the shrieks that broke that early morning silence as people scrambled for their phones, calling an ambulance as mothers turned their children’s faces away, clucking at the pitiful sight. What killed Myra Isby was the sudden, jarring-
“So I think that it would be best for us to just be friends,” Celik said slowly, folding his hands.
“Just friends.” Myra repeated dully, her own hands limp in her lap as her world spun and turned itself upside down.
“Yes,” Celik responded, glancing at Myra, startled by the stillness he found there. She was completely motionless, except for the soft rising and falling of her shoulders and the silent tears that ran down her cheeks.
“Okay,” Myra whispered, looking up, her eyes roving across his face, committing every detail to memory, like so many times before. Celik nodded, standing, and walking away, until all that was left was a phantom image in her mind.
Myra Isby died that day. She still walked, talked, and went through school like everyone else, going through the motions, playing the part. But, she had lost her spark, the light in her eyes faded to a dull glimmer because in her mind, she was still falling.