The Boy on the Roof

The boy was lanky, with a mop of unkempt hair, and a slim, laughing face. It was a great joke to him, being up there on the roof. Kids gawping up at him and pointing, teachers serious, gasping or pleading... These things only made it funnier.

His eyes shone. At this moment, he felt he could do anything. Like he was soaring. Cresting an invisible wave. That must be why his feet danced closer to the edge.

He wasn't thinking of falling, the injury he might suffer, or even about the consequence they would give him. Iso, maybe. Or suspension.

If he had thought about it, he'd have snorted. What an absolute farce. As if not coming to school was a punishment! A lie in in the mornings. More time gaming. Sounds sweet.

Closer to the edge, closer. Allow a little wobble before he danced back to relative safety away from the edge. The way they drew in sharp breaths, let out small screams. Hands clamped over mouths, or else fluttering, pleading.

The Head of English had a booming voice, a bristling auburn beard, and a strict manner. The younger kids were openly frightened of him. Surely he could persuade the boy down on to safer footing?

The boy wore naked delight on his face, and drank in every gaze fixed on him, and it felt there were more every moment. Buoying him up, perhaps, on that wave of approval, or at least noticement.

This was like being class clown, but squared. Even in the grey January chill, he felt toasty warm. He would like to bottle this feeling!

He shook his hair out of his eyes and danced close to the edge again.

His foot slipped on a wet leaf, and over he went. Glee was swapped for surprise at the turn of events. His arms windmilled, almost comic in their desperation to find purchase. It shouldn't have killed him, not at this height. It should have just broken his legs. But he did land awful funny.

He's all splayed out at awkward angles, blood (and this might be the most concerning part) seeping out around his shaggy head.

It took a moment for the screaming to start.