Forgive me, please

Forgive me,
Please



Ryan woke up, and left is mat. It was still dark out side from the night before. He administered is his daily regimen of drugs, He was used to the needle by now. The drugs pumped though his veins.
It was a cocktaile of anti-psychotics, pain killers and memory suppressants.
He cooked some toast and got on his type writer.

He would only use a typewriter. Ryan was not much of a computer person. He was a writer; He use to write short story for a magazine but in the past 3 years he wrote 2 full novels, nether of them published. There were his works, he put in his soul in them. He made a comment in his journal.

“I haven't been sleeping well lately, the nightmares have returned. Horrid nightmares, I don’t even want to remember them.”

Ryan pointed the gun at the mans head, he was on his knees.
A trear trickled down the mans face, and he closed his eyes.
The trigger pulled, red every where.

The flashback hit Ryan hard. He couldn't remember if it happened that way, or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. By now, memory, dreams, he couldn't tell the different any more. All he knew is that he wasn't stable, not then. “But I'm better now” he said to him self.
As a step to avoidance to him self, Ryan looked out the window. The shear drop was about 50 floors. They were putting out a billboard selling a car, It was a hover model, one of the new ones Ryan had seen floaing around. He looked down ar the shear drop and the ground 37 floors down. He glanced at the news ticker posted across the street, “Today: 7/18/2054 ... Stocks: Raven Co. +6.52, Spacer Tek -0.52, US dollar -16.62 ...” For three years, this was the only news source he had. Ryan used to watch the news all the time, back in his former life, every day, some time three times a day, he ketp up with politics, current events, science, everything. Now he had a narrow snapshot of what was happening. A war could go on with out his knowing. He remembered the news reports.

Earlier today the GEO of MALcorp was found dead in his home.
Investigators say it was
murder.
More on that later, Here’s Todd with the weather.

That word stuck out to him. Murder.

After that he shut him self out from the world. The noise, everything, living in this apartment for three years with no human contact. Not much more then ordering shipments of food via the mail. The silents was his only company, at first it was disconferting, but it worked its self in to veins, and burrowing a hole in his mind making its home. It was part of him now.

Ryan ate his toast, He had always been a dry toast person. He subconuisly scratched the scars on his arm from where he tried to dig up a tracking chip that he convinced him self to of had in him.

He used a knife, cuting the skin,
diging, sreaching,
its was't there, he looked more, it wasn't there.
What if there is no chip?
No, he remembered them puting it there.
It must be there. What if its not?
What if there not?

That was his frist though of doupt. Soon his world would get ripped inside out.
He opened the drawer to get a knife to cut an orange, As he was holding the knife,

Ryan attacked the guard, stabbing him in the chest,
this was the only way to get to Malik.

Ryan tried to suppress the memory. He tried to focus on something ease, like cutting the orange. It didn't help.

The knife broke skin, The guard gasped, his cry was quickly muffled.
The blood spild on to his hand.
Ryan let him down slowly, and took the gun.

A shape pain hit his hand, Ryan snapped back to realliy. He had cut his thumb, the blood dripped on the counter. He opened the first aid kit and bandaged his hand. He had done this before, use this first aid kit.


He left the body.
One bullent to the window, it sharterd, he ran though it.
A spiner fired, The bullet ripped though him, but he ketp moving.
Run though the pain untill in was so intesen that it felt like shards of broken glass ripping on his in side.
It felt as if he heart was pumping
liquid pain though his body, but he kept running, there was no stoping him.

It was as if the memorys psyhical pained him, maybe he was just rembering the pain. He took and extra dose of drugs, but it wasn't helping. Ryran wasn't sure if they even had still had effect on the memorys, Maybe he was gaining an immuintly to them. He had allready up the dosage 3 times. He was allredy well over the recemeneded ammount.
He sat down on the coach and though to him self. “I’m not better” The memory's were getting stronger. Ever sense that fate full day, The day its all started. It was as vivid as yesterday. But then again all of these were.

A man knocked on Ryan's door
“Hi, who are you?” Ryan asked
“Name’s Lex, I'm with the Protection Syndicate”
“Umm... who are they?”
“We are an underground organization, installed to keep world order”
“Umm... ok then, and why are you here?”
“to employ you”
“For?”
“Can we talk inside?”
“Ummm.... meh, why the hell not”
Ryan normaly did't use 'umm' so much, he just was
uncorfurable around staragers.
Lex stepped in “Thank you” he then said “Want some tea?”
“No, lets get right to the point, This man is planing to take over the world”
He showed a file with a picture of Malik,
Ryan remembered him from the cover of a business magazine.
“Even if he were trying to rule the world,
Why would I care? And why me, I'm just a writer.”
“It would be a total dictatorship, and even if he fails, it could lead to total anarchy”
“And my second question?”
“We blieve your ID chip is defective, you can move freely with out government prying eyes”
These days every one had a ID chip, tracking credit cards, insurance, and donner information. Some Claimed that satelltes could track these, but these claims were never proven.
“All right, I'll do it, if the fate of the world depends on it, and there's a hefty pay check involved”
“And there is, we will need to put a new chip in, to keep track of you, encase you fall in to the wrong hands”

There arn't evil empires or megacorpartoins trying to take over natoins. He was deaceved in to killing an incentent man. He was unure if it was his mind desiving him, or an rival corper

Ryan had killed for money, It was horrable to think about what he did. He wasn't worthy of this. And he wouldn't be. He wasn’t getting better, he was getting worse. He went to the typewriter. “Forgive me, Please.” He opened the bay window, and took a step out.

And it was like that, no drama, he just took a step out and fell.

He stared his decent down. He look on to the appending ground, The concrete was bare, and uninviting. It was as if time slowed down just for him, The people walking on the streets, going among there lives. What if I don’t want to die? What if I’m not ready? What if its not my time?
No, its too late now! He wasn’t getting better, no glorious return to the world, nothing to look for. His mind jumped off topic. What would happen after this? After he hit the ground. Ryan was unsure as far as the after life, but he could guess that they would investigate the scene and his apartment. Two investigators would enter, One male, one female. They would first look at the window, and how it was opened before Ryan left it. One would make a comment that Ryan had dent finished his toast, not a sign of suicide. Then the would see the typewriter, and at first the message would make sense to them, then the would read the rest of his journal it and under stand. They would read the books too, the ones Ryan wrote, they would be put in as evidence, but sooner or later some one would find them, and post them. Ryan imagtoined that the person would give him credit and post it as his works, but that might just be wishful thinking. Maybe he would be famous, and some one would write a biography on him based on the journals. He looked down, It was still coming. The feeling of the air moving past him, Knowing that this was the end, It was and invigorating feeling. He probably lived more in these few moments then ever.
He remembered the days of child hood, The memories flowed in, out of order, or clarity. Making snow forts, playing games. He had a happy child hood, in fact until its final leg, Ryan had a happy life. He had lived his life, And although he couldn't say it was a full on, he couldn't say it was a empty one ether. The sun rose, it filled the sky, So simple, so wonderful, The colors spilled over the car, like a painter dieing the sky with ink. He forgot about the shit, the filth that had seem to cover his life. He looked at the concrete on final time, he was ready for it now. He closed his eyes and smiled

As the body lay on the ground, people garthed. Paramedics came, but they could do nothing more then clean up the mess. The news trick reported in the background. “BREAKING NEWS: Stock piles of weapons found in MALcorp warehouse, Experts clam that it was equipment for an army. Conspirators claim that they could be used for a military cue in the united states.”