Page 60 - 2021 English Magazine - Final

CRIMSON
By Tan Ginny
He thought it would be easy.
Standing above the skyline, staring at blinding lights sprinkled across the city like fallen stars, he
took a deep breath. The moving car lamps thirty floors below rushed by, never stopping, never
slowing, much like his own heartbeat.
Boom. Boom. How he wished for this dreaded nightmare to be over.
He’d left the door leading to the roof slightly ajar, despite knowing that no one would come for him.
No one ever did. He wondered if anyone would come after today, knowing they could’ve stopped it.
A breathless laugh broke from his chest, ripping out of his throat like a cry from a wounded animal,
calling for help. Choked hacks turned into screams, as he tore at his own clothes, feeling disgusted at
himself.
He would’ve preferred anything compared to a choice. He wasn’t brave enough to take the leap, and
yet too much of a coward to go back to what was before.
He did not want to go back under that roof, being somebody he was not.
Crimson hands, stained. Crimson lies, tasting every bit as sweet.
The howling winds sounded like his mother’s screams when his father’s belt lashed across her
slender arms. The slow ticks of his watch were that of a time bomb, counting down to the incoming
thunder of his father’s terrible wrath.
He craved escape. He needed freedom like air.
Leaping was the only choice he was afforded in his life.
Images in his head whirled, bits and pieces and oh so many jagged shards of clouded pain. His once-
gentle father, driven to alcohol and violence by the loss of his job and many other troubles that
accompanied the arrival of the pandemic, which took the world by storm. His soft-spoken mother,
whose smile was replaced by seemingly endless tears.
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The house phone never stopped ringing, courtesy of horrible relatives that tried to wring more
money out of them despite knowing their circumstances were less than cheerful. Knocks on the door
by debtors calling for cash that wouldn’t appear no matter how much effort his father put in.
There were too many things pushing him over the edge.
Jump, the winds seemed to jeer at him. Jump, jump, jump .
Crimson against grey concrete would be a wondrous sight, blooming like a rose in the springtime.
Thunder rolled in the distance, slowly clapping out a steady, deafening drumbeat that mirrored his
own heart. Would everything be better if he weren’t here, being a burden?
Crimson hair, bleeding out. Crimson eyes, cried swollen.
He knew full well how much his school fees and miscellaneous payments weighed down on his
parents. As a student with no financial independence, there was little he could do to impress the
situation, save for completely dropping out of school and getting a full-time job.
And yet, and yet.
The dream of making it big in the art industry, of golds and whites splattered over canvases
displayed in a studio, hovered over him like a hanging axe. Glittering lights, applause and
champagne, oil paints and brushes dipped in finish, and a middle-aged couple, holding onto each
other and smiling at him like he was their greatest pride.
Would it come true if this lifetime ends right now?
There were many ways this could end.
He took a seat on the ledge, feet dangling a hundred meters above the ground. Earphones plugged
into his ears and My Chemical Romance blaring away, the drums shut the thunder out.
In the distance, lightning crackled, splitting the sky open.
If he heard his heart breaking in two as well, he didn’t show it.
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