The storm had arrived, and with each passing moment the noose tightened, its icy grip slowly draining all hope from­ the air leaving a sense of heightened dread. The city was still, almost as if its last breath had been taken and was now held in anticipation.

The wind howled and faded at intervals back into the gloom of the dusk as if the buildings screamed for help against the harsh conditions, while the murky glow of city lights filled the landscape like pinpricks on a canvas.

The atmosphere of the rooftop made it feel like centre stage, the eyes of New York now fixated on the final act — the last moments within the eye of the storm.

The door to the exterior swung open and a figure began to stumble into the glow of the moonlight. Emerging from the doorway, wearing black, slim-fit jeans and brown dress boots, was a distressed male figure. His hair was beginning to cover his ears, quickly tossed around by the high winds, his stubble a few days in the making. As his eyes narrowed and his attention seemed split between what lay before and what he had left behind, he tried to steady his breathing. Holding his left shoulder, he began to trudge forward into the chilled air. His footsteps gradually becoming heavier as a passage of white dust kicked up behind him with each laboured step towards the raised ledge of the rooftop. Blood dripped down his arm and hand, eventually resting upon the disturbed path behind him, leaving a Hansel & Gretel style trail toward where he eventually stopped. He paused, looking out over the open expanse before him.

The snow gently fell, stretching into the distance, touching everything he could see, leaving a blanket of fresh, undisturbed powder upon the face of the city. At this height the streets looked barren, the dark sky sparkled, and the contrast between the two reminded him of an old noir film he had seen as a child.

As the frosty touch of the night air wrapped around his lungs, he slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small pack of cigarettes, complete with a silver lighter. Sliding out the last of his twenty, he dropped the empty box and placed the filter into the corner of his mouth, before lighting up with the resulting flame that burst into life after a quick flick of his wrist. Protecting the spark with his shaking hands, he pursed his lips and drew quickly once or twice. He held his left arm close to his body as a few drops of crimson escaped from his hand and concluded the breadcrumbs leading to his final resting place. Taking his first full draw, he watched as the small box drifted into the distance, violently being forced by currents of frost laden wind, before slowly stepping up onto the ledge. He took another, the smoke filling his lungs and the harsh taste of nicotine swirling around his almost chattering teeth. He looked up and closed his eyes, taking one last moment to think about his situation, before slowly exhaling and bringing his head back down.

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“Ardin.” A voice resonated from behind him; it raged from the open and empty doorway.

He refused to turn and meet the booming inquiry filling the rooftop, choosing instead to look upon his left hand as the snow floated down and melted against his bloody skin. His eyes focused on his palm, so much so that it felt as if he was beginning to burn a hole in its centre. Taking one last drag from his cigarette he let go, allowing it to escape his grasp. As it glided down over the night sky, he brought his right hand up and focused on both. With his vision penetrating deep into his skin, his palms began to sting with a dull pressure.

“Ardin!” The voice filled the rooftop again, jolting him out of his intense focus and reminding him of the only choice he had now.

He looked over his shoulder as a swirling cloud of darkness began licking at the frame of the door, like thousands of long, thin fingers — the abyssal grasp of fate. As it slowly drifted from the doorway, almost as if it intended to toy with him, it pushed towards the ledge that he had precariously perched himself upon. Turning back to look over the city, he closed his eyes. The wind raced by as he slowly fell forward letting his feet leave the edge of the building.

He had no other choice; the storm had arrived.