The beam creaked protestation with his added weight; a long metalic groan. Her moonlit eyes swallowing the surrounding darkness with hope, pleading just one more sunrise.

“I… can’t”, he says, sweating profusely at the strain, biting and chewing his recent mental decleration to never let her go; now to never again swallow. Sweat lathered palms greasing their salvation.

Her scrunchy left with the wind in a great flurry of blonde and he caught the subtle waft of Jasmine which he had lathered in her hair on the previous evenings shower. Bright floral notes to an urban backdrop; their unrequited future.

Why take her there, to the construction site of their future condo. Pride. Ego. To bask in their glory and success, to show her a promised skyline they had risen above together. But now, teetering on the brink, as she sways in darkness 24 stories up; only alive thanks to his grip. His increasingly sweaty grip.

A blindfold. What idiocy. What utter stupidity. And why… for likes. A video born of vanity now a ulogy of her final moments.

She begins to slide down his palm. Those great luminous moons now cratered with farewell tears. He lunges a little further over the edge, attempting to increase his grip and pull her, lift her, arms quivering with fear, cold and weakness. The creaking framework made another insolent protest at their bid for life.

“Goodbye,” she said, forfeiting her hold and letting the darkness swollow her whole. A goodbye that would forever haunt her fiancée.