Richard had a hole torn into him. On top of the building, he stood near the edge, eighteen stories above the street. Helen wouldn't be down there for a few more minutes, so he had enough time to torture himself about the past some more.
His wife left no indication of unhappiness. The complete trust of her husband began withdrawing as she felt his sanity was slipping. Stress and alcohol don't mix too well and now meant he could only see his son on Wednesdays. Days blurred into weeks and soon he'd been divorced for nearly six months.
This Wednesday he'd planned to buy comics for Aaron, his son. Such a fan of the Hulk and Fantastic Four, he thought he'd appreciate them, even at the tender age of seven. Richard couldn't bring himself to leave the house until later however, when it was time to return him to his mother.
And here he was, the place of Helen's employment. A workaholic herself, she seemed to cope so much better than he did. Marriage had been the only thing he could count on. He had no friends, no co-workers who he could turn to for support. Alone in the world, he had shifted the blame to his ex-wife.
Maybe ending it all here would be a way to get back at her. He'd already gone too far, why not go all the way. Her blue BMW was parked directly beneath him, he knew she would miss it more than him. He closed his eyes and felt the wind at his back. He lost his bearings and then opened them again, taking a step back from the edge.
The sun was setting behind him, illuminating the buildings taller than the one he was perched upon. He was sure he could see forever, to the end of the world. Surely nothing could be beyond his horizon, his line of sight only extending as far as his death. When Aaron had been born he'd realized that others live on after his death; the world keeps turning. Now hurt, he felt this was something he could count on.
He had a knife in his pocket; perhaps he could slice himself open on the rooftop. His white shirt would definitely look good with a large red spray. He could picture his guts spilling onto the pavement below, falling oh so far onto little Helen's head. Richard could feel the box-cutter in his pocket now, urgently pressing against his thigh.
Now wasn't the time, however he liked the idea of first showering her before crashing from the heavens into her car. He'd lugged some things up the stairs with him. Important things to him which would surely be a pretty frame to his mangled body, adding more salt to the wound. Could she live on after this? He didn't care anymore; after all she was the one who had done this to him.
Richard slowly stepped back toward the edge, peering over it again. A head of long blonde hair walked out of the building and opened the door of the dark blue sedan. Helen had finished work, and was about to head home. A garbage truck had boxed her in, making this the perfect time to exact his revenge.
Any moment now, she would be calling him. No doubt the usual name calling and yelling would ensue, due to his inability to return his son on time again. Richard looked now to his bag of belongings.
He walked over excited and grabbed the handles. How he'd gotten it up the stairs he'd never know, security usually being intense. They knew his dismal face by now, so maybe they simply trusted him. Putting the bag down next to the edge, he looked down at the street again.
Traffic was backed up due to road work. Perfect. He turned back to his long black bag. Unzipping the top flap, he suddenly felt his elbows weaken.
Two tiny eyes looked back at him blankly as the stench of blood filled the air. In the afternoon sun, he could make out a small head of blonde hair and sticky red jam. The bag now fully open, Aaron's head stared back at him.
Richard's eyes grew red. His lips trembled and tears began to flow. He placed his hands on the ears of the dismembered head and picked it up.
"I love you Aaron..." He breathed these words and let his forehead touched the nose. Every joint in his body relaxed, giving way. Aaron's hair smelt like his mothers, although a little dirtier. Richard held the head close to his chest and let the aroma fill him.
The moment passed. Using one hand to wipe his face clear of tears, Richard used the other to place the head back into the bag with the rest of the mangled remains. The same knife he'd used was still in his pocket. It rubbed his leg as he stood up, now taking in the setting sun.
The bag still open, he looked down at the small blue car still parked in traffic. Relieved his opportunity remained, he grabbed the sides of the bag in both hands. He lowered it over the edge of the building and tipped it upside down, letting blood and white chunks fill the air.