Almost the last thing I do is pray. I get down on my knees on that sun-warmed rough concrete roof and I close my eyes, raising my hands together to the sky I mouth words of comfort and explanation. I don’t wait for a response but I know, I can tell in my heart, that I have been heard.
My pursuers are banging on the door, the entryway to this roof terrace, it won’t be much longer now.
I stand, brushing off loose gravel from my bare knees, and walk over to the slightly raised brickwork of the edge of the building. The ground is a long way below me. I can see particles of quartz glinting from the marble pavement in the early morning sun. Although it is too early for many people to be up and about I see a few joggers over by the ocean’s edge. They do not see me.
Taking a deep breath I step up onto the edge, no longer looking down, now just looking out and ahead into the pale blue sky that promises a hot, cloud free day.
Spreading my arms wide I mentally fix them in place. Use them to glide not to flap, I entreat my body, conscious of dignity even in these last moments. As the door finally splinters apart I casually shift my centre of balance and soundlessly tumble over and down.
Even as my pursuers look down upon my broken and bleeding body, smashed against the smooth marble pavement tiles, a dark stain spreading out, reaching into tiny cracks in the stone, I am already gone.
And now I must search for a new vehicle. A working unit of flesh and blood to carry my will until my will can be done. Despite the pain and the frustration, despite the always seeking always hiding always running, I will persevere.
You will see.