London is almost at peace.
The hour strikes midnight as the pub crawlers laugh drunkenly, car headlamps blur and the majesty of landmarks lie in shadow.
Who would notice me, as I steal through this concrete jungle,
to a grotty old office block in Finsbury Park?
Climbing, climbing until I reach the top and stand on the roof, contemplating.
I am almost at peace too, you know. All it takes
is a few more footsteps and the troubles that cloud my head will lift away.
The worries of the world will fizzle and dissolve while I’m searching for The Higher Ground.
Sorry, oh Lord, to be taking your decision about my life.
But you have not played by the rules, and now I’m taking the Get Out Of Jail card.
Freedom. Escape from the cruelty of a Hell on Earth. Maybe they’ll even thank me for it one day.
I look out across the street.
Down below is a cafe I used to drink coffee in. It was always too cold and too sugary, never the perfect cup of coffee I wanted.
Perfection. Ha. That doesn’t actually exist, does it? They tell you no one and nothing’s perfect, yet everyone continues to strive for it. Well I will have found perfection soon; the Exit sign from the world, so perfect for me.
I’m not leaving much behind. The husband took off years ago with a foreign type, many years his junior. He couldn’t handle me once the syndrome of a 40-something fat frump became apparent.
We never tried for kids, and so I won’t be leaving anyone motherless. However desperate I am, I could not be that selfish. Heading off for a world of relief and luxury, whilst they toiled in a world of grief and pain. No.
And don’t talk to me about friends. You can’t trust anyone, so I never properly have. Kept the cards close to my chest all these years, and no one even got a peek.
It’s safe to say I won’t be missed.
One, two, three, and now I’m right at the edge. Like a Holy power, looking down.
Difference is, I will be with the Holy power soon enough.
My fingers fumble with my cross and I exhale steam in the cold air.
It’s a long way down from here, my dear.