The Story of Half an Hour
By Christopher N. D.

Knowing John was battling depression, great care was taken to break the news of his father’s death.

It had been the police officer that told him. Samuel Roberts, John’s father, had perished in a plane that left that morning. His wife stood near her broken husband, in a futile attempt to comfort him. “It will be okay John. Things will be better,” his wife said. “I know you were close to him, but you have to let him go. It’s what he would want you to do.” John wept in a sudden surge of grief in his wife’s arms, and when the storm of sadness had passed, he went up to his room alone knowing no one would follow.

He walked into his bedroom, and turned on the television to the local news program. The top story was news of the plane crash over the Caribbean that his father had perished in. The reporter continued, “An unexpected engine failure caused the death of all fifty-four people on board flight 77. Airline officials are checking over the list of passengers that were aboard the plane, and are currently informing family members. Although the bodies of most victims have been recovered, the body of Samuel Roberts is still missing. A coast guard official has informed us that the chance of survival is slim especially since…” John shut the TV off. “This can’t be happening to me,” John said to himself. He knew that he could not go on without his father. He opened the door and walked out onto the balcony.

John was now standing outside, watching the sky as the small patches of blueness began to disappear behind heavy storm clouds. He watched an airplane cross the sky above him, and he began to climb over the ledge of his balcony. With tears blinding his eyes, he stood on the other side of the railing, taking a look at the world for the last time. John hesitated for a moment before he jumped toward the ground beneath him.

An unearthly sound was released from him when he hit the ground, followed by the sound of bones cracking on the asphalt. His body was mutilated beyond recognition, and a stream of blood flowed down his driveway like a red river. His wife let out a horrifying scream as she gazed upon John’s corpse. The police officer that was with his wife pulled out his radio and called for an ambulance, even though he knew John was dead. The distant wailing of a siren could already be heard in seconds, and was slowly coming closer and closer.

A dark sedan pulled into the driveway, the driver got out of the car, and began to walk up toward the house. He wondered why there was an ambulance and a police car in the street outside of the house. The driver burst open the door. The police officer gasped, and the wife fainted. The driver was Samuel Roberts, John’s father, who had missed his flight that morning.