BANG!
The sound of metal slamming into metal cracked through the street like a gunshot.
"Motherfu—! Watch where you're driving! It's a sixty zone, you dumbass!"
A car door flew open.
"My grandmother drives better than you—and she's been six feet under for ten years!"
The driver of the other car stepped out slowly, staring at the dent in his bumper like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
"Watch where I'm driving?" he snapped. "Maybe watch where you're going, idiot!"
Rain began to fall, thin at first, misting the asphalt and reflecting the glow of streetlights.
"Look at my car!" the first guy shouted.
"Look at mine!"
"Oh yeah? Well maybe if you weren't texting while driving—"
"Maybe if you weren't driving like a blind raccoon!"
Car horns started blaring behind them as traffic backed up.
The two men stood chest to chest now, puffing themselves up like angry pigeons.
Six stories above the chaos, someone watched.
Victor leaned against the edge of the rooftop of his apartment building, staring down at the scene below.
A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers.
He took a drag and exhaled into the cold night air.
"Humans," he muttered.
"Always ready to start a war over the dumbest shit."
Below him one of the drivers shoved the other.
Victor snorted.
"There it is," he said quietly. "Stage two. Chest puffing and bad decisions."
He flicked ash over the side of the building.
The city stretched out around him — lights glowing through the rain, sirens somewhere in the distance, people living their messy little lives.
Victor watched the argument escalate.
"Look at this guy!"
"You wanna go?!"
"Yeah, I wanna go!"
Victor shook his head.
"God, just kiss already," he muttered.
He took another drag from his cigarette and leaned forward slightly.
The rain had started to fall harder now, soaking into his jacket.
The cold didn't bother him.
Not much did anymore.
His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against the folded hospital envelope inside.
The paper crinkled.
Victor sighed.
"Yeah… yeah I know," he murmured.
He didn't need to read it again.
He had the words memorized.
Aggressive.
Untreatable.
Terminal.
Months left.
Maybe less.
Victor let out a dry laugh.
"Well ain't that a punchline."
Down below the argument had now evolved into pointing fingers and loud threats.
Victor barely watched anymore.
Instead, his eyes drifted toward the skyline.
For a moment, memories crept in.
The kind that never asked permission.
His parents.
He remembered flashes of them more than anything else. His mother's laugh. His father's terrible singing in the shower.
Then one rainy night.
Headlights.
Screeching tires.
A drunk driver who walked away.
Victor was nine years old when the police knocked on the door.
Just like that…
life ended.
The funeral had been quiet.
Victor remembered the smell of flowers and the sound of adults whispering.
He also remembered the hand that gripped his shoulder afterward.
His uncle.
At the time, Victor had thought it meant he wasn't alone anymore.
Kids were stupid like that.
The first time it happened had been a few weeks later.
Victor shut his eyes for a moment.
Even now, decades later, the memories still crawled under his skin like insects.
His uncle had been the kind of man who smiled in public.
The kind neighbors called "a good guy."
The kind who told Victor he should be grateful.
"Family takes care of family," he used to say.
Victor learned quickly that silence was safer than speaking.
Years passed like that.
School during the day.
Hell at night.
No one noticed.
Or maybe no one wanted to.
Victor eventually left the moment he was old enough.
But the damage followed him.
It always did.
He bounced through life after that.
Jobs that didn't matter.
Apartments that didn't feel like home.
Bars where he could drink just enough to quiet the noise in his head.
Eventually the memories stopped hurting as much.
Not because they healed.
Just because Victor stopped caring.
Down below, one of the drivers yelled loud enough to snap Victor back to the present.
"Say that again!"
"Oh I'll say it again!"
Victor rolled his eyes.
"Yeah yeah, beat each other up already," he muttered.
The rain soaked through his shirt now, but he didn't move.
Didn't bother.
His hand tightened around the hospital envelope.
He pulled it out slowly and looked at it one last time.
White paper.
Black letters.
A fancy way of saying:
Game over.
Victor chuckled softly.
"You know what's funny?" he said to the empty rooftop.
"Life spends decades kicking the shit out of you…"
He crumpled the envelope in his hand.
"…and right when you finally stop caring…"
He tossed the paper over the edge of the building.
"…it tells you you're dying."
Down below the drivers were still yelling.
Traffic honked.
Someone leaned out a window screaming for them to shut up.
Victor stepped closer to the edge of the rooftop.
Six floors.
Concrete waiting below.
Pretty final.
The city hummed around him.
People living.
Fighting.
Loving.
Surviving.
Victor stared down at the street.
"Funny thing is," he murmured.
"All those people down there…"
He smirked faintly.
"…they're terrified of dying."
Rain ran down his face.
Victor closed his eyes.
"For me…"
He took one slow breath.
"…this might be the first good decision I've made in years."
He stepped forward.
And the world disappeared.