Windows

‘When did you realise for you the first time that you weren’t immortal?’

The blonde’s face flashed into his mind and he thought about the way she’d spoken with a smile, showing off the bit of apple stuck in her teeth and the crooked incisor that he’d noticed her poking at with her tongue during their entire meal.

‘Pardon?’ he’d replied, staring at her over a forkful of salad. ‘What sort of question is that?’

She’d blushed and shrugged.

‘It’s just a first date sort of question,’ she’d said. ‘You know, a sort of tell me who you are type question.’

‘Oh,’ he’d said before eating his forkful of salad and forgetting about it all together.

Now, now he was thinking about it though. Or more accurately, about how he’d never assumed that he was immortal until the day he’d found out that he actually was and being immortal was nothing more than a massive ball ache for all those involved.

‘Here we go again,’ he sighed, gripping the window sill with both hands and heaving himself to his feet.

Eight floors down the gaggle of neatly dressed police officers leapt to attention, the one with the crackly microphone shouting something up in that calm, measure way that one speaks to an insane person.

‘Poor sap,’ Thomas thought. Groaning, he stretched upwards, popping the kink from his shoulders. With a final glance down he shoved his leg back inside and ducked his body beneath the sash window. He landed solidly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he scanned over the living room and decided that yes, everything was most certainly being left behind and screw the price of furnishing from scratch, he’d earned more than enough over the years.

‘SIR! OPEN UP!’ The voice accompanied a series of heavy thuds which rattled the front door.

‘Great,’ Thomas muttered, straightening his tie and brushing off his sleeves. In three long strides he was stood in front of the door, handle in hand and face smoothed into what could be considered a welcoming expression.

‘Really,’ he said, swinging the door inwards, ‘can a man not enjoy his own window sill in peace these days.’

Just a random, quick free-write in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Finite Creatures.”