I looked down at the mysterious murky-blue water below. I am literally the unluckiest boy on the planet. All my ancestors are suicidal. I was born to a hippie dad who does bad jokes all of the time, and my mother embarrasses me 24/7. Both of them met here, considering jumping off this ancient, abandoned turret. It brings peace to me now, knowing that they met here, and now I’m alive.
I am not usually this depressed. It’s just that we’ve moved house, and I now have the neighbour from hell: my future self. Nobody actually knows this, of course, except me. I am his splitting image. He has my grey eyes and a sense of trouble about him. I happen to like trouble.
I can’t help but doing bad things. Getting into a ‘heated discussion’ about racism with my PHSE teacher may not have been one of my smartest moves (I sort of got him kicked out of school because I annoyed him so much that he slapped me), but hey, I had a lot to learn since yesterday. Yes. That happened yesterday.
Anyway. The reason I am here is because my family have announced some news. I’m having a new baby sibling. Great. Now my life isn’t even worth living. I have always told myself that I wouldn’t let myself be like my relatives, that I wouldn’t jump off the turret, like all my ancestors did. This house has been in the family for ages. We only moved here because my last relative jumped down. I don’t even know how he managed to jump. He was ninety.
I might jump off here. Why am I living anyway? I’m going to die anyway, so I have nothing to lose. My whole family tree is heaped down there, generation after generation of hysterical people; suicidal cases.
Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No.
As the feathers from the starling murmuration fall down, I make my final decision.