Chapter 8:
Call It Cloned Insanity
The Death on Green (and the cat who always lands on foot)
“I must’ve… sounded really cool…” I said, clutching the cemetery gate, trying not to hyperventilate.
I could feel the adrenaline rush fading, my heart pounding so hard it seemed to want to break through my chest.
I definitely didn’t want to set foot in the cemetery for a while.
Before you point it out, I get the irony of that coming from someone like me.
You could say I left in worse shape than when I arrived—more questions, and now, the feeling of way more problems than before.
Where was I even supposed to go now? It was late, shops were closing, and hitting a crowded bar was the last thing on my list—if I even had a list.
I thought maybe going back to the bridge would give me some sense of closure. At the very least, I could spit out my thoughts while staring at the water and, with some luck, catch tuberculosis.
After a bit of walking, the moon was peeking through the dark clouds. The sidewalk was barely lit by the streetlights guiding my way, and the occasional flash made me squint.
Drivers should know when to switch between high and low beams.
A figure on the bridge caught my attention.
Too close to the railing, head fixed on the river below, completely soaked.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation.
She looked like a girl around my age, maybe a year or two older. Braided hair, a light blue raincoat, and a pleated skirt that fell below her knees.
Horrible fashion sense, honestly.
I watched her for a bit. She seemed to be muttering, counting something with her trembling fingers.
Nerves, I assumed, considering it wasn’t that cold, even with the rain.
“Let’s see… if the bridge is 50 meters high… I’d need…” she repeated to herself, loud enough to hear.
“70 meters,” I said, cutting her off.
She flinched at my interruption, nearly tumbling into the water—which, I guess, was her plan, though it’d probably count as manslaughter on my part, not suicide.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just felt the need to correct a bad calculation.”
“…The height doesn’t matter that much anyway…” she said, lowering her head. Her voice was soft and shy as she pointed to a bag of rocks beside her.
“Too much weight. More likely your arms would rip off before you hit the water.”
“Not necessarily… if I tie the bag to my waist, it’d drag me to the bottom. Once there, I wouldn’t care if I broke something—I wouldn’t have the time or means to surface, even if my survival instinct kicked in,” she said, pulling a pair of glasses from her pocket.
“I see you’ve done your homework…”
Simple in appearance—and I’m not just talking about her awful outfit. No one would guess thoughts like that would come from someone like her. Extremely analytical, too.
I wondered if I sounded the same way. I must be a headache.
“Planning to stick around and watch?” she asked, putting on her glasses. I could barely make out a hint of green in her eyes, probably just the mix of the lights, the lenses, and the night itself.
“Actually, I was thinking of explaining why it’s a bad idea,” I replied, stepping closer to the railing. I spoke while losing myself in the small waves of the river.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’ve got a good one.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Alright, here’s the idea: don’t do it.”
“A stranger’s lame attempt to talk me out of it. Add the rain, the cold—could anything make this worse?” she complained, constantly wiping her glasses. She probably couldn’t see without them, and in this weather, not with them either.
“Even with this weather, the night feels warmer than last week. Just a suggestion—you can do what you want. But… can I ask why?”
“Why would I tell a stranger? Got some weird fetish or something?”
Honestly, that got a laugh out of me.
“Not at all. Though I am a stranger, let’s just say… I ‘know the subject,’” I said, making air quotes.
I showed her the scars on my wrists and the mark on my neck.
She lunged toward me, inspecting me like I was some lab experiment gone wrong.
“This is genuinely impressive…”
“Thanks.”
“So many marks… so many attempts…”
“Yup, exactly… go on.”
“And you didn’t manage to die? Are you dumb or something?” she asked, tilting her head to the right.
“Huh? At least I wasn’t going for cheap theatrics with a bag of rocks,” I shot back.
“It might be cheap theatrics, but it’s functional. Your attempts were subtle… and stupidly ineffective,” she said, smiling.
There was something in that smile, something I understood all too well.
Just talking to someone, even if it was about ways to die.
“You’re so annoying…”
“I’ve been told.”
“Admitting it makes it worse…” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Alright, so are you gonna tell me why? Broken heart? Absent parents? You tell me, I’ve got all night to guess.”
“I… uh… how do I put it? Lately… I’ve been seeing things…” Her voice softened as she hunched her shoulders.
“Things? Can you be a bit more specific? The world’s full of ‘things.’”
“I mean things I shouldn’t see…”
“Oh, we’re going for a ghost story? Interesting.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“Sorry, got carried away. Go on.”
The silence stretched on, and though I understood what it takes to open up, I didn’t get why I was the one she was opening up to. I mean, I didn’t start walking with the idea of playing the Good Samaritan.
“People who… shouldn’t be there, and…” she said, breaking the silence, her voice slowly fading.
“And…?”
“Forget it, it’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid…” she repeated, taking a few steps back.
“Come on, I’m not gonna laugh. Not like this situation is all that funny anyway.”
“And something else…” she said, staring at her shoes, glancing at me for a moment before dropping her eyes back to the ground. “Death… probably.”
“Uh-huh… Why did I have a feeling you’d say that?” I replied, that tic of scratching my neck kicking in again. “I’m not the first person you’ve told this to, am I?”
“How do you know?” Suddenly, her eyes were locked on me.
“The way you reacted. Were you expecting me to suggest a psychiatrist or something?” I said, letting out a long sigh.
“I probably need one…” she said, lowering her head again.
“Depends. Does she look like a girl about 1.50 meters tall, black hair, almost yellow eyes, and a green coat? Or like her twin, but with a gray coat and a corporate bitch vibe?”
I swear, if her jaw wasn’t attached to her skin, it would’ve hit the ground harder than the bag of stones she had.
“H-How do you know that?”
“Long story…” I replied, a bit evasively, staring at the bridge’s lamps. “The good news is you don’t need a psychiatrist—not for this, at least.”
She stayed silent for a long time.
So did I.
In that moment, we probably didn’t need anything more than the sound of the rain hitting the bridge’s steel.
“I’ve… got time to listen…”
“Don’t you think this is already weird enough? Want to add a post-suicide-attempt chat in the rain to the mix?” I said, walking past her. I wasn’t in a hurry—after all, I was already soaked—but standing in the rain didn’t sound like much fun either. “Go home. You can try again another day.”
“Why?”
“‘Why’ what?” I glanced over my shoulder, barely stopping.
“All this… I mean, the logical thing would’ve been to mind your own business.”
“I’m feeling... a bit selfish today,” I said, scratching my neck again. That tic was getting more frequent.
“Still…”
“If you’re trying to drag out the conversation, that’s not the way.”
“I’m not—!” She cut herself off mid-sentence.
I exhaled heavily, deliberately obvious.
Though I understood her, in a way.
“My place is a few blocks away. If you don’t want to go back to yours, you can stay until the rain stops. Just a suggestion, not an invitation,” I said, waving my hand as I started walking again.
“Alright!”
“Huh? Not gonna think twice about it? Didn’t your parents tell you not to accept invitations from strangers?”
“You said it wasn’t an invitation…”
“Fair point, but still.”
“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to bring suicidal people to your house?” she asked, putting her hands behind her back as she hurried to keep pace with me.
“Nope, they just said ‘no corpses.’ Didn’t mention anything about suicidal folks.”
She let out a faint laugh, barely audible, as she followed my steps.
I could feel the adrenaline rush fading, my heart pounding so hard it seemed to want to break through my chest.
I definitely didn’t want to set foot in the cemetery for a while.
Before you point it out, I get the irony of that coming from someone like me.
You could say I left in worse shape than when I arrived—more questions, and now, the feeling of way more problems than before.
Where was I even supposed to go now? It was late, shops were closing, and hitting a crowded bar was the last thing on my list—if I even had a list.
I thought maybe going back to the bridge would give me some sense of closure. At the very least, I could spit out my thoughts while staring at the water and, with some luck, catch tuberculosis.
After a bit of walking, the moon was peeking through the dark clouds. The sidewalk was barely lit by the streetlights guiding my way, and the occasional flash made me squint.
Drivers should know when to switch between high and low beams.
A figure on the bridge caught my attention.
Too close to the railing, head fixed on the river below, completely soaked.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation.
She looked like a girl around my age, maybe a year or two older. Braided hair, a light blue raincoat, and a pleated skirt that fell below her knees.
Horrible fashion sense, honestly.
I watched her for a bit. She seemed to be muttering, counting something with her trembling fingers.
Nerves, I assumed, considering it wasn’t that cold, even with the rain.
“Let’s see… if the bridge is 50 meters high… I’d need…” she repeated to herself, loud enough to hear.
“70 meters,” I said, cutting her off.
She flinched at my interruption, nearly tumbling into the water—which, I guess, was her plan, though it’d probably count as manslaughter on my part, not suicide.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just felt the need to correct a bad calculation.”
“…The height doesn’t matter that much anyway…” she said, lowering her head. Her voice was soft and shy as she pointed to a bag of rocks beside her.
“Too much weight. More likely your arms would rip off before you hit the water.”
“Not necessarily… if I tie the bag to my waist, it’d drag me to the bottom. Once there, I wouldn’t care if I broke something—I wouldn’t have the time or means to surface, even if my survival instinct kicked in,” she said, pulling a pair of glasses from her pocket.
“I see you’ve done your homework…”
Simple in appearance—and I’m not just talking about her awful outfit. No one would guess thoughts like that would come from someone like her. Extremely analytical, too.
I wondered if I sounded the same way. I must be a headache.
“Planning to stick around and watch?” she asked, putting on her glasses. I could barely make out a hint of green in her eyes, probably just the mix of the lights, the lenses, and the night itself.
“Actually, I was thinking of explaining why it’s a bad idea,” I replied, stepping closer to the railing. I spoke while losing myself in the small waves of the river.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’ve got a good one.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Alright, here’s the idea: don’t do it.”
“A stranger’s lame attempt to talk me out of it. Add the rain, the cold—could anything make this worse?” she complained, constantly wiping her glasses. She probably couldn’t see without them, and in this weather, not with them either.
“Even with this weather, the night feels warmer than last week. Just a suggestion—you can do what you want. But… can I ask why?”
“Why would I tell a stranger? Got some weird fetish or something?”
Honestly, that got a laugh out of me.
“Not at all. Though I am a stranger, let’s just say… I ‘know the subject,’” I said, making air quotes.
I showed her the scars on my wrists and the mark on my neck.
She lunged toward me, inspecting me like I was some lab experiment gone wrong.
“This is genuinely impressive…”
“Thanks.”
“So many marks… so many attempts…”
“Yup, exactly… go on.”
“And you didn’t manage to die? Are you dumb or something?” she asked, tilting her head to the right.
“Huh? At least I wasn’t going for cheap theatrics with a bag of rocks,” I shot back.
“It might be cheap theatrics, but it’s functional. Your attempts were subtle… and stupidly ineffective,” she said, smiling.
There was something in that smile, something I understood all too well.
Just talking to someone, even if it was about ways to die.
“You’re so annoying…”
“I’ve been told.”
“Admitting it makes it worse…” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Alright, so are you gonna tell me why? Broken heart? Absent parents? You tell me, I’ve got all night to guess.”
“I… uh… how do I put it? Lately… I’ve been seeing things…” Her voice softened as she hunched her shoulders.
“Things? Can you be a bit more specific? The world’s full of ‘things.’”
“I mean things I shouldn’t see…”
“Oh, we’re going for a ghost story? Interesting.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“Sorry, got carried away. Go on.”
The silence stretched on, and though I understood what it takes to open up, I didn’t get why I was the one she was opening up to. I mean, I didn’t start walking with the idea of playing the Good Samaritan.
“People who… shouldn’t be there, and…” she said, breaking the silence, her voice slowly fading.
“And…?”
“Forget it, it’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid…” she repeated, taking a few steps back.
“Come on, I’m not gonna laugh. Not like this situation is all that funny anyway.”
“And something else…” she said, staring at her shoes, glancing at me for a moment before dropping her eyes back to the ground. “Death… probably.”
“Uh-huh… Why did I have a feeling you’d say that?” I replied, that tic of scratching my neck kicking in again. “I’m not the first person you’ve told this to, am I?”
“How do you know?” Suddenly, her eyes were locked on me.
“The way you reacted. Were you expecting me to suggest a psychiatrist or something?” I said, letting out a long sigh.
“I probably need one…” she said, lowering her head again.
“Depends. Does she look like a girl about 1.50 meters tall, black hair, almost yellow eyes, and a green coat? Or like her twin, but with a gray coat and a corporate bitch vibe?”
I swear, if her jaw wasn’t attached to her skin, it would’ve hit the ground harder than the bag of stones she had.
“H-How do you know that?”
“Long story…” I replied, a bit evasively, staring at the bridge’s lamps. “The good news is you don’t need a psychiatrist—not for this, at least.”
She stayed silent for a long time.
So did I.
In that moment, we probably didn’t need anything more than the sound of the rain hitting the bridge’s steel.
“I’ve… got time to listen…”
“Don’t you think this is already weird enough? Want to add a post-suicide-attempt chat in the rain to the mix?” I said, walking past her. I wasn’t in a hurry—after all, I was already soaked—but standing in the rain didn’t sound like much fun either. “Go home. You can try again another day.”
“Why?”
“‘Why’ what?” I glanced over my shoulder, barely stopping.
“All this… I mean, the logical thing would’ve been to mind your own business.”
“I’m feeling... a bit selfish today,” I said, scratching my neck again. That tic was getting more frequent.
“Still…”
“If you’re trying to drag out the conversation, that’s not the way.”
“I’m not—!” She cut herself off mid-sentence.
I exhaled heavily, deliberately obvious.
Though I understood her, in a way.
“My place is a few blocks away. If you don’t want to go back to yours, you can stay until the rain stops. Just a suggestion, not an invitation,” I said, waving my hand as I started walking again.
“Alright!”
“Huh? Not gonna think twice about it? Didn’t your parents tell you not to accept invitations from strangers?”
“You said it wasn’t an invitation…”
“Fair point, but still.”
“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to bring suicidal people to your house?” she asked, putting her hands behind her back as she hurried to keep pace with me.
“Nope, they just said ‘no corpses.’ Didn’t mention anything about suicidal folks.”
She let out a faint laugh, barely audible, as she followed my steps.
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