I can't understand it, I think to myself as I look at the scenery around me. I'm sitting calmly on top of my apartment building, with a journal in my lap and a pen in my hand. My dark hair sways in the wind, my legs hanging over the side of the building like they always do when I'm thinking. I can't think of what to write. Usually, I'm so avid at writing that I can just look at a pen and know what to fill the paper beside it with, but today it seems to have gone from my mind, and everything that I would have written down in my journal I can't think of at all. Why?

With a sigh, I set my journal to the side and stand up, brushing myself off from all the debris that has collected on my school uniform. To be completely honest, I was supposed to graduate last year, but it was a tough year for me, what with being taken away from yet another foster family and being told to live on my own because I'm eighteen now. I guess my stress took its toll, and I rebelled without even knowing it. Against whom, though, I still don't know. Now, here I am, sitting on the edge of the roof of the building I now live in, my journal beside me, and no words on the page. No one is coming to look for me, and therefore no one will find me. That's the way my life has been for the last two years.

I look down as I do every day, wondering what it would be like to fly down to the bottom of this building, my hair whipping around in the wind, my breath being taken from me so quickly, so inelegantly. It would be a horrible and rather disgusting way to die, despite bieng considered one of the more poetic ways by popular belief. I have no interest in dying in such a way.

The sun shines on my face, illuminating the darkness in my grey eyes. Am I really desperate enough to jump? Do I really have any desire to die so quickly, without even a blink to remember this colourful world by? This world, which has been an inspiration to so many of my poems, my stories of love and loss, of sadness and the one emotion that irritates me most - happiness. No... I guess I don't. I stand after a few seconds and take a look at the pitiful creatures below me.

I look down at the people at my feet, and I watch them for a few more moments. I'm really no different from them, but my life and my way of thinking, I feel, has somehow been warped, ever since the explosion that killed my family. Something must have happened to the people below me as well, right? Not all of them could have led a perfect life. None of them could be truly happy.

I feel some hope in my mind and my heart as I realize that I might not be the only one with such foolish thoughts of suicide and hatred. I take a step back from the side of the building, sighing as I pick up my journal and pen.

"Oh?" a voice mocks me from behind. "You're not going to do it?"

I turn slowly to see an attractive man standing a few feet away, only a few years older than me with short black hair and wearing a black coat with fur around the hood and wrists. It's an interesting style, but that's not what catches my attention – rather, it's his eyes. Those piercing brown eyes that can to see right through me, as though my body isn't here at all. At the sight of them, I feel a cold tingle go down my spine, and I shudder in response.

"What's your excuse this time?" he asks me as he steps closer. "Are you afraid, like all the others?" He laughs now, like he thinks that something he said is funny. "Or have you just changed your mind, having realized that maybe your life really is worth living?"

"I was never planning on jumping," I tell him, but we both know it's a lie. I do think about it, sometimes.

"Well, you must have thought about it," he prompts, amusement dripping from his smooth voice, which reminds me vaguely of an escaped convict. His speech pattern leaves nothing to be desired, let alone that dark laughter in his eyes. That disturbing, yet simultaneously intriguing darkness that shadows him even in daylight. He leans against the railing that separates us and goes down the middle of the roof, as if hoping to give someone some support while they're looking down on the rest of the world. As he continues, I find myself becoming captivated by his voice, those eyes, and the things he says.

"All you humans think about death at a height like this, especially someone in your position. You've been up here every day for the last few weeks, trying to think of what to write, what to say to an audience that doesn't exist. Most of those people down there don't even know who you are, so tell me – why don't you go down there and join them, rather than waiting for them to come up here?"

"You mean, why don't I just jump?" I rephrase simply, and he smiles.

"Tell me."

I look down at the concrete below again, and at all my fellow pawns walking around, completely clueless of the girl standing above them, watching them. I wonder briefly what it would be like to join them down there, and again I imagine myself falling from the rooftop, the wind slapping my face, cutting through my hair and my clothes as I fall headlong into the concrete. It would feel like flying for the time being, and I would open my arms to embrace what came next, but in the end...

"There is no beauty to a death like that," I tell him, and for a moment his smile fades, and he becomes perplexed, but the amusement and the darkness in his eyes stays.

"Beauty?" he enquires. "Is there any beauty in living the way you are now?"

As my eyes are guided back to him, I furrow my brow. I feel like it's the most obvious thing in the world when I answer. "Yes," I say slowly. "Yes, there is. I live in darkness, where no one can find me, and no one notices my pitiful existence," I look away from him again. "I suppose that such misery is beautiful to me. The appearance of happiness is boring, but when someone is on their knees, hugging themselves with sadness and depression gripping them, trying to comfort themselves... I can't help but be in awe."

When I look up at him again, I see that the smile is back on his face, and I frown. The amusement in his eyes seems to have doubled and his eyes are sparkling under the bright sun. I stare at him for a few moments, but when I open my mouth to ask what he's smiling at he begins to chuckle darkly, before his chuckle becomes a full-out laugh.

"What so funny?" I demand. I'm growing annoyed with him quickly, and I find that I want to just walk away more and more as he continues to laugh.

"Nothing, nothing," he says finally when he stops about three minutes later. "I like your view on things! I've never met a girl like you before."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, suddenly on the defensive. "What do you mean by that?"

He ignores my question, however, and moves on to another one, still grinning. "What's your name?" he asks me, at which I hesitate, but tell him reluctantly.

"Ishikawa Shiori," I tell him slowly. Then, I ask, "What's yours?" Here, though, he just smiles to himself, leaning on the railing with his back toward me.

"Shiori," he mutters to himself. "Interesting... it suits you, you know? To weave a poem... it really suits you." Suddenly he stands up and starts walking away. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Wait, what?" I demand as he heads toward the door leading to the inside of the building. "You're going to leave without even introducing yourself?"

"Why should I?" he asks, waving goodbye to me. "You'll find out sooner or later, won't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I call after him, but by then he is already gone, leaving me alone on the rooftop again. When he's gone, I turn back to look at the people below me. "What a pain..."

** OK, so as a side note I'll just tell this to the people who I presume don't know, if you don't know much about Japan... or anime. ^^ I introduced Shiori in the customary Japanese way, which is last name first, so don't be surprised if some people call her Shiori while others call her Ishikawa. I've been watching anime for a long time, and I still get confused by that stuff, haha.
** Also, please tell me what you think. Flamers are not accepted, but I am always grateful to constructive criticism. ^^

~STupIdWiNsAGaIn~