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Épier

HOPE IS DEAD.

He watched her, mud-colored eyes traveling from the torn-out, white yarn where coat buttons used to be, to the fine locks of blonde hair that peeked from under the blue hat her mother’s arthritic fingers had taken so long to knit.

He watched her, small, gloved hands peeking from her over-sized, worn-out coat that dragged four inches down her knees, leather boots stomping against the ground as they waited for the elevator appear.

He watched her, a large grin spread across her face, a small gap on her bottom gums catching his attention for a brief second before he set his sight upon the doors that invited them right in.

He watched her, hand overlapping hers as he raised it, pressing it against the largest and most scratched out number on the side of the elevator wall, letting her feel, for once, in control.

He watched her, tiny fingers clasped together as they cupped her nose and mouth, head leaning forward before she let out a cute sneeze.

He watched her, chest lifting upwards as she inhaled the cold air that slashed against their pale faces, their shoes crunching against the dirty ground.

He watched her, lips parting as he let himself fall to his knees, knitted gloves tightly grasping onto her shoulders and bringing her against himself.

He watched her, eyes set upon her own, the very same ones that told of an unspeakable world he would never be able to truly see; a world of her own.

He watched her, mouth sputtering description after description about building after building after

He watched her, her head leaning closer, cheek against cheek, coarse lips separating as she murmured, ‘thank you for letting me fly once more’.

He watched her, teeth chattering against wind, brave steps continuing forward before his fingers tugged at the back of her coat, forcing her to break.

He watched her, small arms stretched out to her sides, fingers spread as she encouraged him to pick her up and let her go on her way, for she was just a little bird who needed to pushed off the nest.

He watched her, hands slipping from under her armpits as she took her final step off the concrete ledge, blue hat slipping off her head and diving downwards along her side, experiencing what it was, to really live and feel alive.

And for a second there, he could’ve sworn his five year old, baby sister had taken flight.

For just a second there, he could’ve sworn red-tinted wings had fluttered out of her back and turned her into an angel.

For just a second there, his mind was so clouded with adrenaline he almost wondered if the sound of his sister’s body smashing against the concrete and breaking into a million, blood-stained pieces was just an illusion.

But the second was just a second, for what came after as he ran up the side and off the roof was a special moment dedicated just for him by him. There were no more blind sisters, sickly mothers, hunger, thirst, or even ache for attention. There was just him, the buildings, and the sky embracing him as their own. The more he fell down, the more satisfied his heart was by his decision.

He had never meant to fly like his dead sister had so foolishly hoped of doing once she stepped off the ledge. He had never meant to disgustingly dream of a ‘better tomorrow’ like his dead sister had so foolishly dreamt. He had never even meant to feel alive in the first place like his dead sister had so foolishly wanted.

All he simply wanted to do all along, was die.

Just die.
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622 words.