Steps into the Mirror - 00

The concrete ground is cold under the pads of Dan’s fingers, and the sky shifts from an ashen grey to crimson even as he watches. He squints at the nauseating ripples that have taken residence in the corners of his eyes.

He chokes on a laugh, because even now his eyes can find the eleventh floor of the building he had fallen from, and there are frantic faces at the window. He can faintly hear the screaming of sirens.

It’s funny because he thought, he knew, that he wouldn’t fall when he let go. And he wonders with a smile if this counts as suicide.

Although he entertains the thought for a long moment, it escapes him with another stab of pain along his spine. It is as if he’s drowning in a bath tub, and the water is half ice. Only his head maintains the vague feeling of warmth, yet even the smallest shard of peace is marred by the knowledge that he’s bleeding all over the ground.

Closing his eyes, he struggles to remember the fall. Blinks and trembles, occasionally recognizing the fact that his breathing has turned into sharp, keening gasps.

He wasn’t supposed to fall, he never did, he never could.

The six words are all that he recollects from falling. He never did, he never could.

His heart is now coiling into itself. The icy fingers that have already taken the rest of his body are digging into the ball of muscle, and it hurts even more than the fall.

When another wave of pain slams into him, dull and throbbing, he blinks rapidly. His lower lip is bleeding. He probably swallowed a good half of it, he decides lazily. Bit it off some seconds after impact.

He finds himself looking at a man, and wonders why his hair is gray although the face partially hidden underneath the strands is young. Dan squints for only a short moment, sliding his eyes shut with a groan when even the smallest motion causes blades to stab into his brain.

The eyes. He can’t see the man’s eyes, knows that he has to, somehow, but he doesn’t see the man’s eyes. For a second, he feels a burning sensation at the corners of his eyes. When he wonders why, nudging at the emotion, unnerved, it melts away like snow flakes on a hand.

The man reaches out, and Dan watches him through misty eyes. “The last time it was a fire,” the man mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut, slumping down by Dan’s side. He easily ignores the blood and splattered pieces of gore, acting as if the crimson stains do not exist in his world.

Dan keeps his gaze on the man, for he is the only thing that feels even remotely right about the situation. And he chortles softly, even though his ribs seem to be scraping against each other’s broken edges. “Wh,” he manages, then chokes on a howl and the blood in his throat.

To his immense gratitude, the man seems to understand completely what Dan means to say. His lips twitch in a sad attempt for a smile, and he reaches down to touch what remains of Dan’s shattered right hand. “I’m your friend, Daniel.”

Dan laughs again, although in the moment, the noise is akin to a nail scraping along a whiteboard. “Creep,” he croaks out before he can even think of what he’s about to say. He shivers in grim satisfaction that he has managed to say a syllable without drowning in blood.

His vision is beginning to fade into darkness. He vaguely wonders if an ambulance is coming, if anyone is going to help him anytime soon. Although he doesn’t know a thing about anything medical, he’s sure that he’s bleeding out. It’s summer but he’s cold and the ground is cold and everything is cold.

The man’s chuckling now, letting loose bites of laughter and crying. Dan only knows because there are cool droplets of water falling onto his face. In-between sobs, the man’s telling him something about forgetting something, please, the next time you meet me, will you please.

Dan blinks lazily, rolling his head to the side to finally disconnect from the man’s eyes. With the chanting of please, please, Daniel, please, ringing in his ears, he lets go of the world and in an instant he is falling once more.