On What We Hope Is True

A drabble

I just watched myself commit suicide. The consciousness behind my eyes must have sensed the impending doom and fled from my body, and I watched myself as I fell into the abyss of gray concrete 18 floors below. By the time the human and sidewalk embraced in that foggy explosion of gore and red stains, we’d separated entirely and the me that floated in the sullen gray clouds was in no way attached to the sprawling lifeless skin and cracked bones on the concrete so far below.
I wondered why she’d done it.
The world, I knew, was a lot to bear, but surely it didn’t amount to that much.
Did it?
I wouldn’t know, I realized, I’d left my humanity behind. I was something else altogether, though what, I still don’t know.