30 Seconds

• Kathleen Muller, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2009

People crowed around the grey stone building like ants around a crumb of precious food. Windows tinted, rain cascading down the exterior and lit occasionally by the cracking lightning the massive building gave off a frighteningly horrific affect. The 000 brigade’s lights cast dim, blue and red glows on the worried faces of the onlookers.

As I sloshed though the icy puddles of hail and rain to the commotion I realised the burning, bright spotlight focused on a tattered figure leaning against the wind over the edge of the building. He stood like a king, like everything below him was tiny, insignificant to his existence.

He was a mess, clothes torn, flying in the fierce wind. His face was smudged with grease and dirt, his wet hair whipped across his face. Standing there, on the top of that building must’ve made him feel incredible. Like he was the world’s very core, like he was what kept the earth spinning, like he was god.

With everything below him, the crowd a whirlpool of confusion, he stepped forward. In that moment a synchronized gasp escaped from everybody’s lips and the middle aged man grinned. His yellow brown teeth -half of which were missing- barley visible against his untidy regrowth. His smile resembled one of a mother witnessing her child’s first steps, a smile so wonderful it’s only released when our life’s goal has been achieved.

He fell gracefully, an Olympians winning dive into the warm depths of accomplishment.

A huge crack of lightning flashed as he hit the ground he once ruled. I rush over to the front of the crowd to see his mangled corps lying on the concrete footpath. His blood smeared face still smiling. The clouds brake, only for a moment but a small shaft of light escape’s, shines upon the body and fades.

In 30 seconds, 30 years gone.