Dancers

The wind battered the two young men, slipping in and out through the concrete of the parking garage and finding every possible channel to attack them with gusts, blasts and rushes. Their jackets whipped about them, and their long hair danced Medusa-like in the night.

There was no game, just a sense of adventure. No rules, but a definite goal: try it. Anything. Something. Escape the restless, nerve-grinding monotony of work eat sleep work eat sleep. Walls became ladders, railings had became balance beams.

The tall one hopped easily from a wall to a post, then stood surveying the endless city lights. Buildings stretched upwards around them and off into the distance: endless Tokyo. Lights and the smell of food and sounds of traffic jumped to attention in lulls of the wind.

He looked down past his feet to the street below. The next building over was only 5 feet away. An easy leap. In slow motion, he stepped forward, thrusting upward with his right leg as his left provided forward momentum.

There was no rain in the sky that night, but there often was. The wind would pool it at the corners of the rooftop, and there it sat, slowly dripping away at the concrete, wearing it down, exposing iron girders and rusting them away over time as well. All it would take was a good push for something to give.

His foot foundered in a mire of crumbling masonry. The corner of the wall gave away, and his weight bore down on his left foot. It was too far behind him to offer any support; instead it acted as a lever, thrusting him downwards even more quickly.

He reached back, grasping at fencing and guard wires. They too gave way. Everything he touched seemed to dissolve, and then he was gone, flailing down through the air towards the distant milling streets below. The last thing he heard was the wind rushing as he dropped.