I’m not expecting much. There’s little risk here.
A man jumps from the tenth story of a building. A crowd gathers – though not too close – to the scene of the act. You always need one person to alarm the ambulance; perhaps one to call the police, too. Â I’d recommend someone to clean up the mess.
The rest are mere witnesses. In all, a heartbreak for a few, an inconvenience for some, perhaps an envious end for others.
Now, there is someone else: the person looking down from the ledge. It’s hard to see them, as they’re so high up. There’s the obvious distraction down below, as well. They are shouting, screaming, so loudly that their throat is tearing. No-one hears.
There is another fall, eventually. It is slower than the last, and it has no end. Eyes blur eventually, as patterns appear in the cascading windows. The air numbs the face, strains the eyes and wipes away the evidence. Muscles brace, the mind clenches for impact, locked in eternal anticipation. Nothing comes.
I’m sorry that you may find the absence of entrails unfortunate. This is not a tale typed with bloodied fingers, or watched with whited eyes. I understand that there is little glory involved with saving someone who seems to be in no danger of death. I am cursed to care too much to abandon care, but I am as much dead as any man who lived.