Too Late (Super Short Story)

She had watched him drop all the way down, like a fallen angel condemned to the sin-riddled earth.

The laws of gravity had always fascinated her and it didn't seem to matter to her whether it applied itself on human beings or not.

After all, she had seen people die in movies and this did not look like it was any different.

Except that this time round, the cameras would continue rolling. And the dead person would never be able to get up again.

"I wonder if he regretted at the end," she murmured, releasing each word out carefully only to weigh them down on her tongue, heavy with unspoken meaning.

One of the onlookers snorted.

"Regret? That poor fellow must have had enough misery to push himself off fifteen floors."

The girl didn't reply. Fat men old enough to be her grandfathers were not worth her attention.

The air was biting cold, but she remained unaffected, her eyes burning with a strange, dark turmoil.

"Before the ground dragged his soul to hell," she said softly, "that split second right before his fate was sealed."

The onlooker regarded her with a raised eyebrow and skeptical eyes.

"Well, it's too late for that now," he said slowly, choosing to reply even though it was clear he thought the girl crazy, and more so that she was not talking to him. "He's dead."

His nostrils flared as he took a slow drag off a cheap, half-burnt cigarette.

The girl caught the relief in his eyes before he quickly looked down, shame-faced and scattering glowing ashes all over the asphalt ground.

She was suddenly reminded of a pig who had just escaped the abattoir, glad that pain and misery had chosen another victim to push through the gallows today.

But he was merely standing in a long queue lining up for the end.

Sooner or later, his turn would come.

Her lips curled into a thin line crossing between contempt and pity.

"Too late," she echoed in a hollow whisper, briefly touching the locket she wore around her neck. "Too late for regrets."

Then she closed her eyes and continued to stand there, stiff and immobile, until the cold seeped into every pore of her skin, until every other curious onlooker had walked away.

A silent tribute to the death of a man whose blood runs through her veins.

Only then, did she allow herself to leave.