It was a particularly drab Tuesday morning when a stout, unfortunately heavy, middle-aged woman found herself falling at goodness-knows-miles per hour out of the tenth-storey window of her building, right before she had a chance to water her peonies.
She didn't mean to fall out of the window, no more than you would mean to trip over in the street, or that you would mean to run over the neighbour’s cat — despite what Carol from Number 43 says.
The air around her felt both incredibly thin and incredibly dense all at once. Perhaps it was simply the sensation of falling, but her stomach seemed to be somewhere in the region of her throat, which is not the typical positioning of a stomach — and this woman was a very typical person.
Many thoughts rushed through her mind as she fell. Some of her husband, and what he would think of her clumsily falling out of a tenth storey window and dying — in the middle of the school year, no less! Her children would be so disappointed, as it was their quarter-birthdays in only a month’s time, and her daughter, Melee Attack, was so looking forward to it. She had bought a giant plastic dinosaur just for the occasion. Oh, and her poor, sweet little pussy cat would miss her so much. As would her other three kids, who may be dogs but would surely never get over the loss of their ‘Mommy'.
Pam from yoga would likely gossip about this silly mess-up for weeks.
“Did you hear? Rayman Origins’ mom fell out of a window! How embarrassing…"
How could she have let this happen? How could she, loving wife to the 302nd best golfer in America and, most of all, Employee of the Year at the New Hampshire Living Hardware Store, have been so careless?
This would surely ruin her reputation as a dedicated soccer mom. Rayman Origins and Melee Attack had soccer games and ballet recitals to be witnessed, and her husband could never be expected to attend them, what with his competitive golfing and being a man. Oh, husbands, such useless creatures. Good thing he had money, though! Hahaha.
The sky was as grey as a wild tornado. There was no sound. It was almost peaceful.
Perhaps if she prayed really really hard, a big fluffy memory foam mattress would appear beneath her, cushioning her fall. Although, if she were to survive, she would have to live with the embarrassment of having fallen out of a window so early on in the week.
She was starting to slow down. The air pushed against her body at last. She was defying the laws of gravity; she was flying.
What would the neighbours say? She wouldn't even get to see the results of the election. How could she die not knowing which angry white person would take the position of President of the most glorious country in the world? How could she die not knowing whether her vote truly counted?
Buildings began to tower over her as she neared the ground. The sky was no longer grey, it was now bone white, as was the whole world outside of the city. Where were the mountains? The flowers? Why couldn’t she hear the sound of people chatting, the sound of cars honking and revving? Why was it so cold?
She knew, then, that the time was coming. The time that she would hit the ground and it would all be over.
She didn’t say goodbye to anybody; she never had the chance to write a will, or to say her last words to her husband or children so that they could be relayed to her grandchildren when they are told of how their grandmother died.
She never watered her peonies.
As a whistling sound rushed by her ears, indicating that the end was well and truly nigh, a final thought floated through her mind. A regret — one that she hadn’t considered until now.
Moments before she hit the concrete below, she thought:
Should’ve gone to specsavers.