Henry looked out at the city sprawled before him. From the rooftop where he stood, the bright city lights twinkled and the stars above mirrored them. A cool breeze blew and kissed his skin. He could hear the faint sounds from the street, which was many stories below. Henry couldn’t remember such a lovely night. He’d visited his apartment rooftop many times over the past few years but tonight was special and wonderful. He stood on the edge of the building and closed his eyes. Stretching out his arms, he leaned forward, allowing gravity to take over. Henry felt the rush of the wind as his body hurtled towards the concrete. He passed his apartment window on the eighth floor; his suicide letter lay on his kitchen table. It was his legacy to a world that had rejected him; a world that in another second would no longer exist for Henry.
The city lights and stars kept twinkling.
[Author’s note: I’m trying to write a short story under 100 words and keep missing the mark. This one got me closer though. I’ll keep trying.]