Today
Sirens blared throughout the city. Some twenty floors below the ledge of our company building lay a man in a black suit—our uniform—on the pavement in a pool of blood.
And some twenty floors above him stood me, on the rooftop ledge, staring down from the spot that had served as his launch point.
I looked toward the horizon. The sky was clear, the sun already out. It would have been a good day.
He probably didn’t suffer long.
The wind moved past my back. I stepped away from the ledge and returned to the elevator.
It stopped and started. People came and went, as if nothing had happened—as if nothing was happening. It was like any other day. Someone would replace him.
I could not remember what he did. I thought I had seen him once at the printer.
I missed my floor and got off in the lobby. It was still early, but I felt finished with the day.
The train ride was crowded and quiet, packed with people staring into their phones or at their reflections in the windows. The sun was still out when I reached my stop, though the sky had begun to dim.
The company housing was only a few blocks from the station. It was the best part of the job. Restaurants and convenience stores were still open.
I had no appetite. I kept walking.
At my flat, I made a small cup of coffee and turned on the television.
Price hikes. Drone strikes. The usual.
I finished my coffee and wondered how many floors it would take.