It just is

Jack looked out of his open window at the street below as a cool wind blew through the house. He didn't feel anything that he could put a finger on, but whatever it was that bothered him was there. He was lost in his thoughts, and his thoughts were on nothing.

Frequently, his mind was a blank. And when it wasn't blank, there was only pain of some sort. He never knew why it was there, only that it was. He had spent most of his life trying to put a finger on what exactly troubled his mind, but when he thought on it, he became empty and no thoughts came.

But today, there was something different. Today, he had a plan for learning what distressed him, once and for all. Because Jack read books, and all of the books he had ever read told him that when you're near death, your life flashes before your eyes.

It seemed to be the most logical way to pinpoint his problem; a life or death situation would bring up all of his memories and allow his hopes and dreams, if he had any, to flash before his eyes. And as this thought entered his mind, he acted on it.

Many would say that Jack was impulsive. Once an idea came he acted on it with little thought on the possible outcomes. Typically, when he met with resistance to his ideas, he would give up on them. But not today.

Today, there would be no going back. And with a determined nod to himself, he stepped onto the window ledge.

The wind rushed against his face and blew through his hair as he fell. With seventy-nine stories to drop, it would be a long fall. Plenty of time for his life to flash before his eyes.

His childhood came first. His earliest memory was of a small boy fishing. There was a smile on his face and laughter in the air. He had just caught a rather large bass and his older brother was helping him bring it in. He could feel the excitement and knew that he had done well.

Next his mind flashed to another child, who sat alone in the yard and cried as he played with all of his toys. No one was there to play with him. He was alone.

He was older now, and looking into a girls eyes. He was telling her how wonderful he thought she was and she was smiling. He felt good. Like the part of him that was missing was finally found.

He was alone again. The girl had gone and his heart was broken. The emptiness he felt reminded him of something, but he wasn't sure what it was yet.

He snapped out of the thoughts for a moment. He was falling again and figured that he had only fallen a few floors. There were tears in his eyes, though it could have simply been due to the wind. He closed his eyes and became lost in his thoughts again.

Now he saw a boy that everyone loved. He got on well with everyone, the girls and boys liked him and wanted to play with him. He was the oldest at his school now. It was a small school and there were only a few girls there, but they loved him. At least, he thought they did.

And what was love anyway? His mind latched on to the notion and faces began to appear in his mind. All of the ones who had said "I love you" but didn't mean it. He thought about the Bible and what it said about love being patient (check), kind (check). It didn't envy (hmm) or boast (well, not quite), and it wasn't prideful (definitely no). Rude, self-seeking, not easily angered and kept no record of wrongs (nope).

The more he thought about love, the more he realized that this was the problem. He didn't love. Anything or anyone, and no one loved him (not in the Biblical sense). Love had failed him. Or, perhaps, he had failed love. Did he love? Anyone? Himself?

No.

His eyes popped open at the realization. He needed to learn what it meant to really love. And to not love just anyone, but himself. But what was to love? He closed his eyes.

What had he done that would make him deserving of love, and why had all of the people who loved him eventually failed or given up? He did plenty that was deserving of love. He went out of his way to help others. He gave to charity in the hopes that his actions could help someone. He was kind and caring, wasn't he?

Was he?

New thoughts sprang into his mind. Thought of him screaming at someone. A hand around a throat, a fist smashing through a door. That wasn't love. That was anger. That was pain. That was him.

And now he realized. All of the kindness that he exuded and caring he showed was just a mask for what was inside of him. Pain and anger. And no matter how hard he tried to cover it up, it was always there, on the edge of his conscience. Like a tiger, stalking its prey it waited for victims to feel safe and then it sprung.

But he was the victim. He was his own victim and every time he felt secure, that pain and anger would jump on him and ruin it all.

Where did it come from? The good that he did, did it count for nothing? It didn't. Not to him. What was the purpose of all that he tried to accomplish? A shiny veneer, purely cosmetic. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

He opened his eyes again and saw the ground getting so much closer. But it didn't matter. Now he knew what the problem was. He thought about what it meant to be alive. It meant to have life, to exist. But was existence really life? Rocks existed, but were they alive? No.

And neither was he. He was just a rock. You can paint a rock and make it pretty. You can draw hearts on a rock, but it didn't really love. You can paint a smile on a rock, but it isn't really happy. You can paint tears on a rock, but it doesn't feel sadness. It's just a rock. And he had been nothing but a rock for his whole life.

Life was the wrong word for it. It wasn't a life, it was an existence. And now he knew what his problem was. He knew why his mind was empty, as was his heart. Because it wasn't really a life.

He closed his eyes for the final time and hit the pavement.

Jack had watched the pebble fall as long as he could. He had excellent eyesight, but frankly, seventy-nine stories was a pretty good drop and he lost site of it fairly quickly. But something about looking at the little rock falling to the street below awoke something inside of him and his mind plummeted with it.

He wondered how fast it must have been going when it hit the ground and hoped that it didn't hit anyone. He'd feel terrible if it had.

With a final shake of his head, he wondered if it bounced when it landed, then stepped away from the window ledge. He wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled a bit. He didn't need to jump out of a building to figure out his life. He just needed a quiet place to think, free from distractions and the rest of the world. Closing his window, he decided that his apartment would do just fine.

And as for being deserving of love, wasn't that the whole point of it? No one DID anything to deserve love, anymore than we did anything to deserve air. It just was. And that was a nice thought.