My father once asked me, back when I was a child, a very difficult question.

"If creation is evidence of a creator, and thus we have a god, who comes before him?"

Quite an odd question to ask a child, but my father was an odd person. Obsessed with the passions of the mind, he was. Physics, mathematics, philosophy, sociology, biology; you name it, he was an expert in every field. Self taught, too. Read so many books he turned pretty much every room in the house into an individual library. In fact, the man was his own search engine. What a wonderful mind, people would say. And he put it to use to answer this one question.

But he never found his answer. And I think it ate away at him. Spending night after night in a world of his own, pacing through the halls as he always did, thinking. I theorize he thought so much he reached a point that he could think no more, and thus his self and by extension his sanity was lost in the pursuit of knowledge.

He caught dementia pretty early. It’s almost unheard of at 51. Showed the signs even earlier. Stopped talking as much, got angrier. He would withdraw himself to his study for weeks at a time.

I would spend a lot of time at friends houses, enrolled in a lot of sports as well in an attempt to keep my distance. It hurt not just myself, but everyone, to see such a bright mind fade so soon.

The great things people prophesied he would go on to do. The dreams that died with his spirit.

But the one destroyed the most by his onset, was himself. He knew what was happening. He felt it before anyone else had a clue, even the doctors. He saw the shell of a man he was becoming. The path ahead he would certainly walk.

Of all the cures he studied so emphatically, one for a disease of the mind he could not find.

"Do not go gentle into that good night," One of his favorite poems, and my father did not go gentle. He raged against the dying of the light.

He killed himself. After a long struggle, instead of accepting his fate he took it into his own hands. Quite a way he did it, too.

Got drunk, tied a long ass rope to a bridge, and walked off the edge. Hardcore bungee-jumping, he wrote in the letter.

"I'll finally learn at least part of the answer," he also wrote. Sure, Dad.

He left everything to me. The estate, all the bank accounts, business ventures, the whole shablam.

I didn't have any relatives. My mom was long dead, died around the time I was born from postpartum depression. Dad never blamed me, he was too smart to let his emotions get in the way of rationality. Didn't stop me from blaming myself, though.

So that was that. I went on as usual, or as usual as possible. Kept up with all my classes, still played sports like there was no tomorrow.

Didn't stop.

Didn't wait.

Didn't cry.

|-------------------------------------------|

-Cassius-

"Hey Cassius wait!" A voice pitches from the ether, jolting me back into focus. I've been zoning out a lot recently since Dad died. Didn't even notice it was raining. My clothes are pretty much soaked through already.

"Here," a girl says. Kathryn. A new girl this year. She holds out an umbrella, whilst the rain begins to downpour.

"Ah thanks," I say in reply, and our height difference demands I bend underneath.

"Where are you going?" She asks. "I know they cancelled sports, but didn't you drive?"

"Nah. I run to school in the morning."

"Really? That's crazy."

"Yeah, I guess. Helps you stay in shape." I reply monotonously. "Mind if I hold the umbrella?" It's quite the uncomfortable position to be slouching like this.

She hands it over, "Oh yeah sure."

I stand up straight but make sure to hold the umbrella low so the roof of it touches the top of my head. The wind is angling the rain in a way that Kathryn would be drenched if not directly underneath. We start walking along the sidewalk.

"Where are you off to?" I inquire. She had been a new student as of a month or two ago, but I never really bothered talking to her. She seemed to keep to herself, and I wasn't feel very social for obvious reasons. Standing so close I can tell she is quite pretty. Green eyes and brown hair, plastered black in the rain. Short but not too short. Had I not been so preoccupied I might've taken an interest in her, as did some of the other boys at school.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I live pretty close by, and my parents are out on business so I thought I'd walk home". She sneezes.

"You don't drive either?" I ask after a quick bless you. Maybe I run by her unconsciously on my way to school? I could've swore I had never seen her along the street before.

"N-no. I don't have my license. I'm a foreigner so I have to reapply and do the whole c-course over again, and it's sooooo boring." Her voice has gotten a little shaky. She gets cold easily, it seems. I found the rain pleasant. It’s a warm rain. Like the ones that come before a blistering summer sky. Doesn’t keep your clothes from getting cold though.

I chuckle. "Right? It took me like four months just to get the online part done." She laughs. It's a very pleasant laugh. Like pop rocks, but for your spirit.

"E-exactly! Why even put all that stuff in there? I-it's not like everyone memorizes each little detail for when they drive."

"Who knows?" I ask rhetorically. "You're a foreigner? Where are you from?"

"Australia. I'm not used to the cold weather up here," She responds. Now that she mentions it I can hear a slight accent in her voice, but it's nothing like a native-born Aussie.

"Ah that's neat. I had friends from Sydney back when I was younger. You Aussies have some weird ass food. They made me some vegemite and it made me sick for like two days."

She laughs that sparkling laugh. "I guess you could call it an acquired taste."

While talking with this girl I seem to have begun to feel better. Not 'depression-is-cured better', but she made me laugh, and so I offer to buy her something to eat. Besides, she looks REALLY cold.

"Y-yeah that would be great," she says through chattering teeth.

I sheath the umbrella as we walk into a random café lining the the street. A bell rings as I open the door, and a barista offers us any seat we'd like. The place is empty, but warm. We sit down at a table close to the window while Kathryn reads the chalkboard menu heading the wall above the serving counter.

"Hmmmmm," She says. "I'm not sure what to get. What do you recommend?"

"I don't drink coffe."

"What!? How are you awake enough in the morning to run to school everyday?"

"Cold showers. They do wonders for your mind and body."

"You're a weirdo." She says with a smirk.

"Get the chocolate milk," I offer. "Who doesn't like chocolate milk?"

"Touché, but I'm in the mood for something nice a warm."

"Hot cocoa."

She laughs. "Good idea".

Since there's no one else in the café, we order from our seats. I got a tall glass of chocolate milk and some house-made banana muffin thing, and she ordered a hot cocoa and breakfast sandwich. If I'm being perfect honest, the muffin sucked. I hate banana.

"Calling me weird, but you eat breakfast for lunch? Or is it dinner now?" I tease.

"Judge me all you want, I could eat breakfast any time of day," She boasts. "The egg-bacon-cheese croissant sandwiches from burger king? I would sell one of my organs for those things."

"I can't say I've had one before," I reply.

"My weirdo-bell just rang again. They are literally the best thing you've ever eaten."

"Is that so?"

"It is so so."

I laugh. Not a boisterous laugh or polite chuckle, but a laugh of contentment. This girl, who I don’t even know, is making me feel happy for the first time in a while. I’m not sure if it’s her scent from the downpour or the way her eyes sparkle with the threat of a smile at any moment, or the fact that she’s different from any girls I’ve met before. She’s just warm, and I can feel that warmth spreading through me just by being around her.

We finish eating, and head back out into the rain. She stands a bit closer than before underneath the umbrella. "If you weren't so tall my pants wouldn't be so wet," She glares up at me in mock-anger from beneath the umbrella.

"Sorry," I say. "Can't help it."

We walk through the downtown. Mostly a solitary journey aside the odd car which threatens a splash every time it drives by.

"That's my house, right across the street. The blue one," She points at it. Then she turns to face me again. "Thanks for treating me. I had fun."

There's not a soul in sight amidst the squalor of the rain, aside a the high beams of a car at the far end of the road.

"Thanks for the umbrella," I reply.

She gives an "mhm" of you're welcome. "Hey before I go, I just wanted to say, um, I'm sorry about your dad. I know what it's like to go through that and if you need anything you can talk to me."

The car is a bit closer now. Even though the rain is patterning against the canopy of the umbrella, you can still hear the roar of the engine. Probably a truck or something of the sort. The dumpy kind with the loud exhaust.

"Oh yeah sure, thanks," I reply without much enthusiasm. Not as if I hadn't heard a thousand people tell me the same thing. They all mean well, but it becomes meaningless with repetition.

"I mean it," She say sincerely. "If you need anything just let me know. Can I give you my number?"

"Yeah of course." I give her my phone and she types her number into the contacts. She even added a heart next to her name.

"Alrighty then, I'll seeya later. And keep the umbrella. You can give it back to me at school. " With a wave and a smile, she's off jogging across the road, in the slick gloomy rain of a Friday evening right into the path of a semi-truck blindly barreling through the precipitation at high speeds.

She didn't notice in the squalor of the rain, not quickly enough. But I did.

Time slows down. I watch as the driver realizes too late the girl in his path, and vainly slams on his breaks. He's going too fast. The road is too slippery. I watch her eyes grow wide in surprise. Fear hasn't had a chance to register yet.

In an attempt to dodge her, the driver jerks the wheel hard, throwing the semi onto its side and making everything a whole lot worse. There’s nowhere she can go.

Years of track meets kick in.

I drop the umbrella and try to boost off of the curb, but my foot slips and I slide on the concrete, lacerating the skin of my knee. But I'm back up in the blink of an eye. I stumble-run in the slick of the rain as if I'm trying to run on ice. The truck barrels closer. The driver, still trying to drive apparently, lays into the horn. I'm so close.

"Kathryn!" I yell. Please no. Visions of my father flash before my eyes. His smile. His laugh. His lifeless body.

I can't watch someone die in front of me. Not again. Not this warm and innocent girl.

In a desperate attempt, I leap the gap, but it's too late. The car is too close. "Cass...? Her voice is cut off. I can't even push her out of the way. All I have time to do is wrap my arms around her, try to shield her from the blunt of the impact. I shut my eyes. The roar of the engine in my ears. The blare of the horn engrained in my soul. I await the taste of chrome, await the skipping of my body across the wet road like a stone skips across a pond. The loudest sound of all the thunderous crash of the rain who is witness witness to it all.

And then all is silent.

And then the birds begin to sing.