Two Story Jump

Where I lived, a two story jump didn't seem that high. Falling on the cement patio might sting the hell out of your hands, feet, and knees, but it still didn't seem too risky. I lit my cigarette and put my forehead against the windowpane. My gaze drifted from the smudges on the glass to the cement that was dotted with stains. Two stories really didn't seem high at all.I hadn't showered in days. I know that sounds horrible, and it was. My hair was oily and left marks on the window. It was already dirty, so it didn't make much of a difference. My big white shirt was stained with ketchup, sauces, and substances like that. If there were stains on my cotton shorts, I didn't see them. Black hides things perfectly. That thought led me to think of a racial joke, but I'd saved that for later.

Some younger kids on bicycles went in circles on the road near my fence. The grass needed mowing today, and I didn't plan to do it. I took a drag and watched those little kiddies outside. I fucking hated kids. Especially those kids that every neighborhood has. The snotty little kids who think they own everything, and you have to wait for the neighborhood psycho to rip their cerebellums and feed it to their dog, or some bullshit like that. Those snotty little kids were outside my house. God, I hated kids.
I could hear my mom's loud footsteps coming up the stairs. My door was locked and my fan was off. She'd smell smoke. Fuck. I hurried to put my cigarette into my makeshift ashtray and spray some deodorizer in the air around me. She pounded on the door. "What are you doing? I can smell the smoke! Open the door!" Her accent of the asian persuasion was heavy. I didn't open the door, and she just beat harder against it.

I screamed at her to shut up, but I still didn't open or unlock the door. I just turned my radio on and loud to drown her out. I needed to get out of the house. Either I go through the door, or through the window. Two stories wasn't that high. I slid the window glass up and slipped a pack of cigarettes and a lighter into my pocket. The kids outside stared at my window with the loud music blaring out. I put my hands on the sides of the window, and my feet on the bottom. Slowly, I made my way through, and when I was on the other side, I let go.

I landed on the ground, on my back. I felt something warm and wet pooling around me. Blood. Fuck. I heard the little kiddies I hated, screaming their lungs out and dropping their bikes so they could run to their houses. That was stupid. Why the fuck would you drop a bike to run to your house? Pain shot through my nerves, and I cringed. I heard my mom downstairs now, screaming, and calling the ambulance. Man, I was in pain. I already knew I was fucking screwed six ways to Sunday, so I reached for my cigarettes, got one, and lit it. Ah, the small joys of life.


While the ambulance was coming, I stared up at the window. Looked pretty fuckin' high now. Perspective changes a lot of things, I guess.