He rolled onto his right and got out of bed. Gravity acted upon his jammies pulling them straight as he felt-slipped his feet into slippers. The clock on the bed stand objectively stated oh-one-fifty-one, not that he looked at it as he crossed the room, time ceased to exist - this is it. Although the room was darkened not only by darkness but the blackness out of a black out blind, he had lived there long enough to be spatially sighted. Arriving at the desk he picked up a pen and scrawled something over the notepad - it’s happening. At the door he donned a dark shapely lump that hung on the wall, it unfolded around his shoulders taking the shape of a dressing gown. Not a warm fluffy one but one of those dry towelled gowns whose texture on the skin is somewhere between itch and satisfaction. On the other side of the door, he gently pulled it too with his left, his right firmly placed against the grey wood to muffle the sound. Under no circumstance did he want to alert the other, tensions were rife in the apartment at the best of times - never wake sleeping dragons.
He pondered for a moment on whether the other would miss him but the thought swiftly left, dissolving back into the realms of his unconscious. He already knew the answer for it was not worth his time. Besides he quite fancied a mysterious disappearance, to be the centre of a perplexing conundrum from which the truth could never be certain. He briefly entertained himself with the idea that one day an actor chosen for his natural likeness would be reconstructing this very moment.
Eyes already adjusted to the darkness the blue black shadows of the hallway were clearly defined. Left on the handle, right on the key, the sense of pending experience overwhelmed, condensed and distilled into a prolonged and steady exhale. On the other side of the door now, closed in the same fashion as the last he slipped the key into his dressing gown pocket - a memento. The apartment was on the top floor and the steep stairs descended below into the pit of darkness - the unknown beckons. He descended the stairs, one hand on the rail, his stature and movement suddenly aged, his back noticeably hunched and his legs began to drag like they were tied down with led balloons. At the foot of the stairs now he looked toward the door. The streetlights never went out here and their yellowing glow radiated through the glass panel just below the lintel. Crossing the hallway he found he did not lament the loss of his friends, his family, old loves nor new loves yet unreleased from the clasp of cupid’s bow. In fact he thought of nothing his mind strangely crisp, poised like untrodden frosted grass - I’m ready. With his right he took the door off the latch and stepped outside. The nightly air hit his face cold and calm as he shut the door behind him. The latch clicked into place - I’m never going back.
He walked out onto the road and looked up into the sky and felt instantly dulled by the city’s abundance of light pollution - I’m ready, I am ready. Standing in the middle of the road he held his arms out to either side and dropped his head back looking upwards. He did not immediately give any thought to why he had stuck this pose. Later he figured it was the pose of suffering and it symbolically marked the end of his. He had heard them call and he was certain it was them. They called him untoward his new existence.
Not that he saw at first because he was looking upwards, but one by one the street lights on Lingfield were going out. And one by one the stars above were re-appearing in the heavenly blackness. He blinked and there it was, the nights sky in perfect disposition. He stamped out a blind urge to climb higher to the rooftops a crawling sensation to get closer. He desired the corners of the sky deeply, honestly and totally, the metaphysical dimensions induced by thoughts of grandiose infested his body. He could not and would not blink for fear this beautiful vista would disappear. Then he tried to move, his feet, his arms, his legs, but he was stuck so he released every muscle and lay down in the air. To his half-surprise he did not fall to the ground. Suspended. A bright light that was much closer than a star appeared directly above him and then instantaneously it went away. The lights turned back on and he fell to his knees.
It was some time before he got up.
He could not explain what had happened, although his therapist would later suspect some kind of psychotic delusion induced by isolation-tension with the other. He looked at the front door to the apartment - no entry til sunrise. Kicking a stone across the curb, then turning on himself, he started out in the direction of the river.