"I always knew.
I don't belong here."
The thought echoed through his mind, quiet and cold, as the wind whispered around him and the city shimmered far below like distant stars. His eyes were blank with unshed tears, fixed on nothing.
"I knew I don't belong here," he whispered.
There was no anger in his voice, only the weight of truth, heavy and tired.
"And yet… those faces."
Memories stirred, uninvited. Laughter that wasn't kind. Eyes that looked through him. Voices that made his name sound like poison.
"Those damn faces that laugh at me every time."
His lips twitched into a strange smile, too wide, too calm.
"Those people who hurt me every day."
The cold cut through his shirt, but he barely felt it anymore. His smile widened, though it held no joy.
"But now, it's all going to be over."
He took one breath.
"I'll see you in hell."
Two quiet steps forward.
Then the air rushed past him, and the world blurred, and gravity did the rest.
That night, the cry of an ambulance rolled through the city. It was a sharp sound, urgent and distant, swallowed quickly by the dark.
LATER
The emergency room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that followed failure.
He lay on the table, pale and broken. His chest was still. His limbs bent at wrong angles. Blood dried at the corner of his mouth.
"Start compressions," someone said.
Hands pressed against his chest. A needle pierced his skin. Adrenaline flowed. The room moved with sharp commands and quiet panic.
"Charging. Clear."
The body jolted. The monitor stuttered.
"Again. Clear."
Nothing.
The beeping gave way to a steady, flat tone.
They stopped.
The doctor removed his gloves, eyes fixed on the body as if waiting for it to breathe again. It didn't.
He exhaled slowly.
"Time of death. Three forty-three a.m."
No one spoke.
The team filed out one by one, their steps soft against the tile. The light above buzzed faintly. The boy remained, alone in a room full of silence.
He was no longer part of the world he never belonged to.