The sky was overcast, and the room was thrown into grey shadows. Heavy curtains once used to block the windows lay torn on the bed. Rik sat on the edge of the window, his legs dangling 14 storeys off the ground. The air stood hot and heavy, laden with moisture. The air was starting to fill with the oppressing smell of decomposition. Rik sat on the edge, trying to summon the courage to let go.

After the door had cracked down the middle, he had pushed the bed against it. The pounding continued still, unabated. He was a prisoner in his own room, an inmate on death row.

Blankness all around, inside and outside. The complex in front of him lay in ruins. Two apartments blazed with fire, no one to put it out. The ground near the towers was littered with broken bodies and crippled dead. Stretches of the once green grass of the gated community were stained with red. He saw cars try to escape the monsters, only to fail miserably. Either the chassis broke, or the tires couldn't get traction; the cars stood in the middle of the road like beached whales. The zombies kept clawing at the windows, to get to their live tuna inside a steel can. Rik initially felt bad for them, unable to help them from his lofty prison. But after watching the fourth car full of occupants get devoured, he felt immune to the pain. He felt a cold distance, "better them than me" he thought.

The pounding at the door continued. The door rattled at the hinges, the bed shifted ever so slightly.

He sat there on his precarious ledge, thinking about how he got there. He felt hopeless, a body without a soul. He looked back at the room behind him. Ma lay there, in the cold hardness of death. He desperately tried to forget the events, and he didn't have to try much. All he remembered of the horror was the rush of adrenaline, of pure unadulterated fear that followed. Then the despair. He shuddered, almost slipping off. But he couldn't let go, not yet.

"A coward, that's what I am. A coward!!", he shouted bitterly into the wind. A few of the monsters looked up towards him and stared hungrily at the boy way above their reach. Still, they started their shamble across the red grass, trails of mangled bodies converging right below his feet. But they couldn't reach him, not yet.

He remembered a distinct cracking sound, as his hands, slippery with blood not his own, trembled in sorrow.

But it would soon be forgotten. The wind is rushing past his face, as the ground speeds up to embrace him. It would hurt momentarily, but then will be over.

Rik took a deep breath and steeled himself. There was no way out. No savior, no miracle, no hope. He felt the burden of guilt burrow deep into his heart. What right he had in living when everyone around him was dead. Survivor's guilt they call it.

"Well, it isn't long now," he thought as he stretched his legs, inching ever so slightly towards the edge. He wasn't much of a believer anyway, the last few hours had robbed him of any belief he had left. There would be no prayer before the end. He looked out over the apartment complex. The fires had almost died out now, but the soot hung in the air. A dreary bleak landscape, filled with the moans from broken vocal cords. The air was deathly silent, holding its breath. Even the occasional phone ringing had ceased. The only signs of life were the shambling undead, waiting for him to join them. It felt good to be wanted. He felt like a king, about to abdicate and give in to the rebellious masses.

"Quite poetic in the end," he chuckled to himself. With a louder voice, "You hear that? I am poetic in the end!", he shouted to unhearing ears. The sky had cleared a bit now, but the humidity was there. The sun shone on his face, drying up the tears streaking down his face. He felt dirty, unclean, an abomination no less than the one below.

Hardening his heart, he looked out to the sky. The sun stood shining, but a wall of clouds would soon cover it. Now was the best time. "Now is a good day to die hard!", his humour kicking in finally. Well, as long as he had a smile on his face.

And in 3, 2, . . .

   ____________________________________    

"Hey, are you alive?"

A call rent through the stillness of the day. But Rik was a split second too late, he had already let go.

He scrabbled for purchase as his hands slipped off. He felt the building wall start moving against his back. He felt his feet flail fruitlessly, failing to find a hold. His hands scraped off plaster and paint as he began his accidental descent. Over the pounding of the heart, he did hear the voice scream, "Oh shit no!"

The world is a strange place. When people are at the end of their rope, the world gives them the courage to keep going on, or rather the cowardice to not escape from life. Yet, when a person is determined, even though the world has nothing else to offer him and eternal sleep seems the only viable option, the universe can bend to the sheer force of his will.

Rik hit his hand in a solitary air-conditioner and was deflected into a small balcony. As he lay there, stunned, he heard it.

An undead face stared back at him from the broken window.