I was born here, and I will die here. Not in that hyperbolic, 'I'm never leaving this place' yuppie kind of way. I'd love to leave. There's so much I haven't seen yet. So much to do. What's it like to live in the country? Does it suck? I bet it sucks. No pizza delivery. No chinese food, full stop.
Yeah it probably sucks.
Sounds like heaven.
I take a deep breath, and survey the dancing lights of my city. It's dying. It has become stagnant, and stale. Rigid and unchanging, the streets are not the labyrinth I grew up in. Everything has been remade in the image of structure. It's perfect.
And so it dies. It has no life anymore. The uncertainty of being, the joy of discovery have drained from it, and it has become like a desert of structure. Even the oasis' are drying up, the bohemian neighbourhoods, the university dorms, the wrong sides of the tracks... all gone to order. It has spread through this city like a nightmare passed from person to person. And so it will perish.
I step on to the railing of the bridge. I don't look down. I know what will happen. I lean, and gravity takes me in her embrace as I tumble.
I land after a dozen feet on the roof of a moving train. My knees hurt from the impact, the jarring suddenness crackling through me like an electric shock. The pain brings clarity as the speed of the train picks up and the wind whips through my hair.
I stand up fully, morosely looking to see the goal of my metal steed. Third Line Station. I check my watch. Exactly on time.
Sigh.
Perhaps they are right. Perhaps it is the right thing to do. To die. And live forever in the city.
I will do this thing.
I ride my magic carpet to its destination. When it comes to a stop, I roll off its back to the shock of the passengers. They feel something, for the first time in too long. One pulls out his phone to take a picture. I smile, and thank her.
I walk to The House. I do not knock.
"I am ready." I announce to the darkness once I am inside. A light breaks in the back of the room, a line the height of a man that spreads into a growing rectangle of impossibly bright white.
I hesitate at the edge of the doorway. A hand rests on my shoulder, broad and strong. It is the hand of my father. I do not turn to look at him.
"Would that it could be me."
"Why can't it be, father?"
"I am too old, son. Mine was tamed, by your mother." I can see the loving smile on his face without turning to look at him. Warmth fills my soul. I will do this thing for him. I will do it for them.
"It was a blessing while it lasted."
"So you were. Go son, and give the city what it starves for."
And I am happy to. I step forth into the chamber of light, and when I turn, there is only light. The dark doorway is gone. I am alone in white. There is only one feature in the infinity of the room I have entered. Ahead, a pedestal of white, and on it my task.
A greying, steadily beating heart rests on the dias. It is old, ancient maybe. The heart of the city. I pick it up, and examine it. I can feel it trying to bring order to my hand as I hold it. I am sorry heart, but we are anathema. I drop it to the ground.
Now, I must give the city what it needs. I take a deep breath, and reach into the deep places of my chest. My fingers close around my gift, and I tear it out. Tears of happiness mingle on my chin as I place my legacy on the pedestal and it beats strong and proud. I collapse to the floor, smiling. My city will survive, will thrive. The uncertainty, the thrill of the metropolis will flood back.
With the beating of a wild heart.
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