Summary: A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain.
Inspired by: i used to have nothing and then by dirgewithoutmusic.
Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in-between.
Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who expiate their sins before going to heaven.
***
You didn't know what was going on.
You didn't feel yourself hit the ground - but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing - residue from the adrenaline.
"Why are you here?"
The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.
"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I - I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"
"Why are you here?"
"I wanted to die," You said, simply.
"Why?"
"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.
"Why now?"
"Because I wanted to."
The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"
You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."
Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.
You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.
Again. You knew this place. You've been here before. You grew up here.
You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.
"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life."
You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.
"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."
You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."
The boy took a step forward and you flinched back, instinctively. He stopped and stared at you with an unreadable gaze. "You're still running away?" He said. "Even when you're older and stronger than me?"
"Shut up." You snapped. "What is this? A test? A riddle?" You glanced down at your own frozen face, your younger self unaware of the conversation as your eyes burned holes into the ground.
The bully perked up. "You were always better at tests, weren't you?" He said. "That's why I was always so mad at you."
"Oh yeah?" You asked sarcastically, hurt and rageful as you stared at the bully that took up so many years and thoughts and days. The bully stared back at you, the pimples dotting his forehead shiny and raised. He seemed so small for someone who had such a huge impact on your life.
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not."
"I am. I cried when I found out."
"Found out?" You repeated. Your heart pounded. How could your heart pound? You were dead. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. You were either falling, or fallen.
This wasn't real.
The bully stared at you, and you stared back. Taking a step back, a tendril of darkness snaked around your ankle and yanked you down.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You were raised once, from two loving fathers who would take you in their arms and smother you with scratchy kisses. From lazy Sundays with buttery sunlight creeping through the window's blinds. With pancakes and orange juice while watching bad cartoons dance on the TV. From crushing hugs and you being tossed in the air as gravity took over and you landed in their arms.
Your dads always caught you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You slammed back into you body as you gasped, kneeling on all fours. Trembling, you scanned the room, the itchy red carpet underneath you biting into your palms and knees.
You looked down. A flimsy drawing looked back, waxy colors scrawled all over the paper as crayons littered the floor. You knew this drawing. You knew this room, this carpet, this house.
You knew what would happen.
Arms wrapped around your torso, and you resisted the urge to scream as an overwhelming perfume made you choke from behind. "A cost," your neighbor hissed. "A life."
You wrenched yourself out of the neighbor's arms, stomach turning. Your dads' were on date night, and decided to drop you off at their neighbor's place. The husbands' didn't notice how the neighbor's smile turned sharp and her eyes landed on you. Goosebumps had exploded throughout your skin.
"You know what it feels like to be taken apart," said the voice. "You know what it feels like to become unmade."
Your neighbor's eyes blazed with sinful intentions as she took a step forward, a saccharine smile on her lips as she -
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sky opened up as they dangled their feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked their clothes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, and were immediately slammed into a brick wall by your classmates -
You hit the ground, and you were watching little kids running around, shrieking with joy as they ran over the place you were beat up yesterday -
You hit - your grades were dropping, and anxiety tightened your heart as the teacher held you back after class -
Again - your dads' were disappointed, one angry, one worried, as they took away your belongings after dinner -
You hit the ground - it was a cycle, wasn't it? Kids laughed at you when you did good in school, beat you up, you dropped your grades, your dads' got disappointed, and then the sweet neighbor offered to give you tutoring lessons while your dads' had date night and -
"Why are you showing me this?!" You screamed as bloody spittle flew from your mouth after all the times you hit the ground. "My life was shitty, I know! I don't need to see it again, I know! Stop showing me this!"
The voice paused, considered. Then darkness grabbed hold of your ankles and dragged you down.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You were born once, from the first time when you visited the relatives of your dads. Grandma kissed, cousins waved, and aunts and uncles hugged.
Your dads laughed as you squirmed away and dashed off to play with the other children.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Everything comes at a cost. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."
"Why are you here?"
"Why now?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, this time in soft green grass. It was early dawn, the sky opening a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.
You turned to look at the house, and in the shadows of the porch, you could see your dads' lean in for a long kiss as they basked in the quiet.
You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing.
This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) you wouldn't land in a warm afterlife. These worlds God kept throwing you into were just painful memories that only solidified your reason for death.
Footsteps rustled through the grass behind you but you didn't move - just breathed in the sweet smell of wind and closed your eyes.
"Hey, kiddo," your dad said, sitting down beside you. Your other dad sat opposite of you.
Your throat suddenly clenched, burned. Your eyes stung. "Hey, dads'," You croaked. "I - hey."
"So ... what happened?" He asked after a beat of silence. You suddenly remembered his laughs, the way it would sneak past your bedroom door as you laid with closed eyes and bruised ribs, wondering if it would get better, wondering if you were ever going to be as happy as your parents.
"I couldn't do it anymore, dad," you choked. "I - I'm sorry. At school I could barely hide the bruises from you, and the neighbor - she just wouldn't stop, and I couldn't tell you because you were so happy. And I messed up your lives from coming home drunk and taking pills and doing cigarettes and -" I couldn't do it anymore.
Your other dad looked at you sadly, an old look that you knew well. It was one of sorrow, of exhaustion and pain that weighed him deep in his bones as he looked at you when you came stumbling home after a night of shame.
"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked. "We could have talked about it ... given you therapy, meds. We could have talked to the teachers, and the parents of the kids, and had that neighbor arrested. We - we blame ourselves."
Your eyes blurred and you blinked rapidly as your dad's face swam into view. His broken look, his tearstained lashes, his red eyes. Grief was written on both your fathers' faces as he placed a hand on your shoulder.
Suddenly, your father's face shifted. "Everything comes at a cost," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
His palm suddenly felt heavy on your shoulder as you whipped around to look at your other dad.
"A life," your other dad rasped.
"No," you jerked back away from your dads', suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to use them. You don't ever get to use them. Don't ever touch them."
Your fathers' faces twisted into confusion, frustration. "I - I am trying. To ask. Why are you here?"
"I just told you - told them. I couldn't do it anymore."
"Why now?"
You didn't have an answer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. They are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. They know what it feels like to be taken apart. They know what it feels like to become unmade.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, and you took the first drag of smoke, ash staining your mouth as you used one stick, then another, then another, until the whole pack was finished in a day. You wanted to die.
You hit the ground, and the stinging alcohol sliding down your throat as buzzing lights danced under your closed eyelids. You wanted to forget, you wanted to be ok, you wanted - your locked eyes with a stranger across the room. You smiled.
You hit - you swallowed pill after pill like it was candy behind your locked door, and when the capsule was empty you curled under the covers and waited as a sickening weight built up in your chest -
You hit the ground, and you slammed against the banquet table, gasping as vertigo made your head spin. Your limbs felt cold as the lead in your chest built up -
"You have done terrible things to yourself. You can never repent."
"They did this to me, they did it first," you gasped. You were drowning as your lungs filled with water. Images in their brain filled up - good times and bad.
Early in the morning, you sat with your dads as you watched the sunrise. Later that day, you were slammed into the playground tree for being better than their peers. Later in life, you popped your first pill, lit your first smoke, drank your first shot.
Your grandma gave you kisses on cheeks, your cousins still waved, aunts and uncles still hugged you. Your neighbor slid her hands along your body just like that stranger did. Sunday mornings with orange juice and pancakes and cartoons were replaced with hangovers as you stared at the top of a building and pretended to see the curve of the horizon.
"They hurt me first."
"They don't cancel each other out. Souls are never scrubbed clean, but can be overgrown."
"What are you trying to say?" You spat. "That I should've lived? That I should've dealt with it? It's too late, it was too late, it has been too late! I wanted to die, so I killed myself. I don't regret it, I'm just sorry for my parents." You clenched your fists. All you could feel is the cold in the warmly-lit room.
"You want time," said the voice. "You want to see your parents again."
"Of course I want to see my parents again." You said. "I love them. But -"
Instead of falling, images rose above you like smoke.
Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other. Your dads' woke you up at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rising for the first time, and it was one of the most favorite memories they had. Your dads' tossed you up, and you soared, before gravity quickly took over and your dads' caught you in their arms. Your dads' introduced you to grandma, to cousins and aunts and uncles. Sunday light crept through the windows and you toasted your orange juice to your dads' coffee.
"You will never get them back," said the voice. "But isn't that what you want? I will show you time."
Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other in the early dawn.
Your dads' fell to your knees in grief and shock and horror, sobbing as men painted in red and blue lights wordlessly spoke of a suicide. Early sunrises were replaced with broken twilights as your dads found the pills, the bottles and the words on pages.
A man opened the news one day and recognized a classmate who killed themself. Horrified guilt made him weep tears of shame as he remembered how he slammed them into a tree for being better than him.
A neighborhood woman opened her door and was met with charges piled higher than her taxes as the police handcuffed her and dragged her to jail after years of freedom.
Your dads' walked up to a woman, a broken look in their eyes as they exchanged words and handed her a picture. The woman covered her mouth, stared at it blankly. You can only assume that this is the birth mother who was never a part of your life. Funny, you didn't even look like her. You must get you looks from your birth father.
Decades later, you watched as your dads' forgave themselves a little as they placed a white rose next to a wilted black one.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when they jump.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"What does this matter?" You said dully. "This isn't real. I'm already dead. I'm falling, or fallen. I'm not in heaven, or hell. I'm in something in-between."
"Everything comes at a cost." Said the voice, but this time it sounded kind. "You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."
"Do you want to die?"
"Yes," You said. "But if I lived a different life, then no."
The voice paused, considered.
"I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me. I didn't want to get bullied, or touched, or hurt, or drugged, or anything. But what the hell does that matter? I'm already falling, or fallen. I'm already dead, or dying. I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me, but they did."
"It matters," whispers the voice. "That's what makes this a sacrifice."
"I'm angry," you whispered. "No one should go through what I did. No one should feel what I felt. My parents -" you trembled.
"Be angry," said the voice. "I am."
That gives you more comfort than you thought it would. Your eyes stung with fury and hurt and sadness as your throat grew tight and your hands started shaking. "I didn't want to die," your voice broke. "I don't want to die. I just -" you sobbed, an ugly sound. "I just wanted it to stop."
The voice pauses, considering.
You don't fall, and the images don't rise, but suddenly your whole world went dark and you woke up in soft green grass as the early dawn opened the sky a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.
You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing, tears drying.
This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had you hit the ground?) you knew what it would cost.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sky opened up as you dangled your feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked your clothes. The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. You are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade. The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when you jump. You gazed along the length of the building you had chosen, heart heavy as you hope that your dads' love you enough to forgive you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~