Every Breath is a Choice
"Life is like a movie, if you've sat through more than half of it and its sucked every second so far, it probably isn't gonna get great right at the end and make it all worthwhile. None should blame you for walking out early."
--Doug Stanhope
The Brooklyn Bridge. It was as good a place as any, and the view of the city from the top was...it was something.
He felt...numb, though, when he looked at it. Felt like he was in some kinda trance. Numb, but maybe kinda peaceful, too. This city and everyone and everything in would go on just fine without him, and that was good. Ginger's kid'd go on with his name, and grow up, and be happy, and wouldn't even remember that "Uncle" of his that made it so he could, but that was okay. He'd be happy with a mom like Ginger Jaye.
He felt bad for Robbie, for his mom, and yes, even for his dad. For the team. For Ginger. That was almost enough to stop him from doing this. Almost.
This made sense, didn't it? Ending all this misery. Ending all this failure, because there'd only be more.
His voice cracked as he said, "It's just...it's just not what I wanted, y'know?"
He wasn't sure who he was talking to. Maybe God? Maybe.
"I'm sorry, but I just don't wanna be here anymore. Not like this. I wanted to be--I wanted to be somebody. I wanted to make a difference. You can't do that doing...what a whole bunch of other people can already do. The world don't need me. I'm not a superhero. I'm--I'm--"
Superfluous, was the word he was looking for, but he couldn't remember it.
His mouth quirked into a shaky smile as he remembered the movie earlier, that he'd seen so many times over. "I wanted to be a contender. I wanted to have class and be somebody. Real class."
The smile faded. "Instead of a bum."
Let's face it, which is what I am.
He was a bum. A world-class loser. He was nobody, wasting everyone else's air.
"I mean, I can't even think up my own poignant last words, I gotta rip 'em off of a movie. Maybe it's a classic, but..."
Breathing in a deep, shaky breath, he raised his voice and cried out, pleading:
"Just, if I'm supposed to be here, can you give me a sign?! Just...some kinda sign! That I'm needed. I just--I just need some kinda sign. To show me if you want me here or not. If I'm meant to be anything. Meant to be somethin' great, or if it's just gonna be more of the same."
God didn't work that way, though. He didn't just--
There was a crack of thunder and it started to rain. Rather hard. Plunking down on his helmet, and dripping in his eyes. Stingy, sticky, unpleasant, New York City rain. The sky falling down on his head. Nova frowned out at the water, still looking at it blankly as he had been this whole time.
"Gee, thanks, God."
He buried his face in his hand.
"I get the picture."
The pain was so raw, like the bottom of his heart was dropping out of his chest. There was water dripping down his face. He told himself it was just the rain.
Just the rain.
For a little while, he just sat there listening to it tap on his helmet, still staring blankly out at the water.
Then, as simply as that, something seemed to snap inside his head like an elastic band breaking, and he decided to get this thing done.
He and made his helmet start recording, as he spoke. When he was done, he took it off, placing it down on the top of the bridge, wondering if anyone would ever find it.
Wondering if anyone would really care. Really.
They won't. You're a joke.
They'd carry on just fine. Probably be happier without him dragging them down all the time. He was doing the world a service here today.
Without the helmet, the environmental support couldn't kick in. Nothing to stop him drowning, and he was pretty damn invulnerable, but he still had to breathe. His powers'd zip back up to the Corps and they'd just assign a New Centurion to Earth's sector.
Nova stood on the edge, shaking, looking down at the water below, dark but for the reflection of the city lights. He had no idea his friends and family were looking for him--didn't even consider it.
It's as easy as falling off a log, he reassured himself nervously. Just higher up aaannd you won't be breathin' at the end of it...
There was only another moment's hesitation before he jumped off into the black.
--Doug Stanhope
The Brooklyn Bridge. It was as good a place as any, and the view of the city from the top was...it was something.
He felt...numb, though, when he looked at it. Felt like he was in some kinda trance. Numb, but maybe kinda peaceful, too. This city and everyone and everything in would go on just fine without him, and that was good. Ginger's kid'd go on with his name, and grow up, and be happy, and wouldn't even remember that "Uncle" of his that made it so he could, but that was okay. He'd be happy with a mom like Ginger Jaye.
He felt bad for Robbie, for his mom, and yes, even for his dad. For the team. For Ginger. That was almost enough to stop him from doing this. Almost.
This made sense, didn't it? Ending all this misery. Ending all this failure, because there'd only be more.
His voice cracked as he said, "It's just...it's just not what I wanted, y'know?"
He wasn't sure who he was talking to. Maybe God? Maybe.
"I'm sorry, but I just don't wanna be here anymore. Not like this. I wanted to be--I wanted to be somebody. I wanted to make a difference. You can't do that doing...what a whole bunch of other people can already do. The world don't need me. I'm not a superhero. I'm--I'm--"
Superfluous, was the word he was looking for, but he couldn't remember it.
His mouth quirked into a shaky smile as he remembered the movie earlier, that he'd seen so many times over. "I wanted to be a contender. I wanted to have class and be somebody. Real class."
The smile faded. "Instead of a bum."
Let's face it, which is what I am.
He was a bum. A world-class loser. He was nobody, wasting everyone else's air.
"I mean, I can't even think up my own poignant last words, I gotta rip 'em off of a movie. Maybe it's a classic, but..."
Breathing in a deep, shaky breath, he raised his voice and cried out, pleading:
"Just, if I'm supposed to be here, can you give me a sign?! Just...some kinda sign! That I'm needed. I just--I just need some kinda sign. To show me if you want me here or not. If I'm meant to be anything. Meant to be somethin' great, or if it's just gonna be more of the same."
God didn't work that way, though. He didn't just--
There was a crack of thunder and it started to rain. Rather hard. Plunking down on his helmet, and dripping in his eyes. Stingy, sticky, unpleasant, New York City rain. The sky falling down on his head. Nova frowned out at the water, still looking at it blankly as he had been this whole time.
"Gee, thanks, God."
He buried his face in his hand.
"I get the picture."
The pain was so raw, like the bottom of his heart was dropping out of his chest. There was water dripping down his face. He told himself it was just the rain.
Just the rain.
For a little while, he just sat there listening to it tap on his helmet, still staring blankly out at the water.
Then, as simply as that, something seemed to snap inside his head like an elastic band breaking, and he decided to get this thing done.
He and made his helmet start recording, as he spoke. When he was done, he took it off, placing it down on the top of the bridge, wondering if anyone would ever find it.
Wondering if anyone would really care. Really.
They won't. You're a joke.
They'd carry on just fine. Probably be happier without him dragging them down all the time. He was doing the world a service here today.
Without the helmet, the environmental support couldn't kick in. Nothing to stop him drowning, and he was pretty damn invulnerable, but he still had to breathe. His powers'd zip back up to the Corps and they'd just assign a New Centurion to Earth's sector.
Nova stood on the edge, shaking, looking down at the water below, dark but for the reflection of the city lights. He had no idea his friends and family were looking for him--didn't even consider it.
It's as easy as falling off a log, he reassured himself nervously. Just higher up aaannd you won't be breathin' at the end of it...
There was only another moment's hesitation before he jumped off into the black.