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The world had stopped. Everything felt… grey. Foreign, even. The trees, formerly green, tall, majestic, had lost their souls and now rose menacingly against the grey sky, their dark branches mockingly pointing at him. Somehow, they knew. Somehow, the fucking trees knew. Like those ugly bastards from Game of Thrones, the ones with crying eyes that were like old crones, uninvited to every relevant moment in history but still present. Not that this wasn’t a relevant moment in his history, though. That was only the day that had sealed his fucking fate but, whatever. Even then, it didn’t matter because they were dead. The trees and him. He was also dead. And yet, there he was, taking another breath. Again, and again, and again.
It was almost unbearable, being in the middle of such a great city, lively, vibrant city, with no life around him, not even his. There were no cars, no people passing by, no crying child. Nada. It almost felt too loud – like ecstatic. A constant, annoying noise that somehow got even louder the more he tried to ignore it. An annoying little bee buzzing its way through his brain.
Bzz.
Bzz.
Bzzzz.
He flinched when the buzz got too close to his heart.
Bzzzz.
He felt it again.
Bzzzzz.
Was he finally dying? Had the moment come?
Bzzzzzzz.
He closed his eyes and looked up, embracing his destiny. A faint smile could almost be seen in his face, had anyone been looking. He felt content. Hyped, even. The imminence of death was not unknown to him, he had been close before.
New Year’s Eve, 1996, his first time. His mum didn’t even bother to call since the summer, but he didn’t care for anything except getting a refill of sweet, innocent powder.
His 18th birthday, Stewy’s too. They may not have been adults legally, at least in America, but they made sure to party like adults.
Connor’s 25th birthday – he loved his brother but what weird friends he had! They had quality snow, though, not the random shit anyone could get in parks, and for that he loved them.
Roman’s 18th birthday, when he also got so drunk that ran naked in front of paparazzi and he almost got hit by Colin’s car. Not his Colin, not his father’s last either. Logan’s third? Colin.
Shiv’s 18th birthday. All that fucking glitter, all the giggles and the teenagers pretending to be adults with too much make up and clothes that seemed stolen from Caroline’s old closet. He vaguely remembers wearing a feathered scarf around his head before waking up with Roman’s ugly mug in front of him, too close to his face he could smell his stinky breath. And then,…
Seriously, what was going on with fucking birthdays.
The buzz got louder and louder. He awaited his destiny with open arms. But he just waited. Waited, and waited, and… he kept waiting. Nothing happened. Eventually, even th buzz stopped. And when he opened his eyes, it was the Hudson, not death, the one welcoming him with open arms.
“Mr Roy.”
He had always liked water. Connor always told him he learned to swim before he ran, but he couldn’t give his parents that much credit – they had probably forgotten he was even there and he just kept floating. And, years later, he had always given his first kiss in the water, in Stewy’s grandiose summer house’s, to some random blondie he cannot even remember. Italy was also one of the top moments of his life, the time when he almost made it – he did fall from his floatie, he just didn’t bother to swim back up and patiently awaited the merciful arms of death wrapping around his body, taking him home. After Logan’s death, water had also welcomed him, comforted him, acted as a balm against his too old, too fresh wounds. And the night before, with his siblings, he…
But that day was different. Water was not that vibrant, it wasn’t that loud. Not water, not the Hudson. It was grey. Color belonged to a different world, a different time. A different life.
“Mr Roy!”
Arms were wrapping around his torso, pulling him back. He was so close he could almost touch the water. His index finger extended almost brushed the surface of the river, his salvation. He groaned, fighting with all his strength against the other force. He moved his arms aimlessly, punching, scratching, trying desperately to free himself and finally swim back home.
In a world so silent, the voices were too much. He just wanted them to stop. He wanted everything to stop.
Finally, he heard a groan and then he felt it.
Weightlessness.
Freedom.
Calmly, he took the last steps separating him from the river and finally closed his eyes and let himself go.
Finally, he heard it. The silence.
Water was all there was.