The Fall (short story)

By James Ong, May 2023

I’ve sinned. We all sin. I am sure even you’ve sinned. It’s inescapable, as impulsive as breathing.

This time it’s different. Far worse than anything before. Sin is sin, right? No matter how big or small. Inflicting pain onto others is no different than an affront to the maker themself.

I have a hard time swallowing that. How can what I’ve done compare to stealing bread or telling white lies or killing god? They can’t be the same. It’s not fair.

I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before. Let me start again.

I invited death into the world, Father. Not for myself and no, not by my hand. Can I tell you a story?

Last Friday, I waded through a sea, debris in a mass of students, handbags, salarymen, umbrellas, and bicycles. Ocha no Mizu overflowed with bodies. We drifted through the deafening chorus of the evening commute, the sound rising and falling with passing election vans blaring campaign slogans.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly man fall. The sea parted around him as he tumbled into the intersection. Everything else continued at pace, but it was almost like the man was in slow motion, somehow plummeting half a beat behind the rest of us. His body struck the ground without making any noise, settling motionless at the bottom of the sea.

I never saw what caused the fall, only the moment his limbs failed him for what may have been the last time.

The man must have hit his head. Blood pooled around the top of his body. He continued to lay in silence, finally taking shallow gasps after several seconds. Eventually, the rest of his body caught up, shrinking inward and crumpling into a ball. Even as a heap on the pavement, the frail figure wanted to avoid becoming a nuisance.

The world responded in kind. It thanked the man for his service by passing along. Just another evening in Tokyo. The man was a pebble falling through a wave.

Then he stopped struggling. A handful of bystanders rushed to his side. Like an aperture, my vision closed around the man as his soul trickled away. I doubt any of us realized we were witnessing what might have been a stranger’s final moments on this earth.

I didn’t know how to feel, Father. I still don’t. I stood there captivated, too tense to move and too engrossed to look away. So I did nothing. My first sin.

Foot patrolmen arrived almost instantly. Their stoic faces flushed as they gauged the severity of the fall. Diligent with their words, they moved deftly to control the flow of bodies while tending to the motionless man. Their expressions betrayed concern. As experienced as they were, their collective age paled in comparison to the years weathered on their patient’s face.

Good samaritans held onto various parts of the man’s body, assuring him he’d bounce back in no time. Onlookers crowded the scene. Soon, their numbers swelled so much that it was impossible for anyone on the outside to know what lay at the center. Yet the tide continued to rise.

I didn’t know this man. He didn’t look like anyone I knew or resemble someone I am close to. I doubt anyone standing there knew a thing about him: who he was, where he was going, what he thought of this country, if his wife wished him well before he left.

He mattered to someone, but not to any of us. Strangers lucky enough to witness what may have been the most intimate moment of his life. Did that somehow make us friends?

Even if I’d wanted to know more about him, what could I possibly ask? Are you a father? Did you care about class ranking when you were my age? Have you ever been to Naha? Do you also like the Swallows? Do you want me to go back to my own country? Have you lived a good life?

Listen to me. Even now, Father, I’m only thinking about myself. The answers probably didn’t matter to the man before the fall. Not for one second did I truly care about the person in need. That’s my second sin. Will ten Hail Marys cover the cost?

No Father, we’re not finished. That doesn’t begin to scratch the surface.

There’s an evil in my soul. It appeared the moment my humanity failed. A grim curiosity consumed me, drowning the last shred of light.

Part of me hoped the elderly man would die in front of me.

I didn’t want to harm or kill him. Nothing like that. I don’t have that sort of constitution. No, I’m so spineless I wanted whatever had caused the accident to finish the job. I didn’t wish the man any ill will. Still, I wanted to see life abandon him.

You see, Father, I’ve never experienced death. Not really. I’ve lost loved ones, but their passing feels removed. One day, they’re just gone. Their absence becomes part of a story.

Anonymity is a sadistic justification. The man could have been everything to someone, or no one at all. The distance emboldened me.

I don’t know if he lived. After ten minutes, the ambulance rushed away and the world went back to the way it was. The crowd scattered and the patrolman swept away the remnants, leaving only a smear on the pavement.

One moment, the elderly man was walking, breathing, and minding his own business. And the next, it was as if he never existed. From everything to nothing in a fraction of his lifetime.

I’m the worst kind of coward, Father. Instead of offering my heart, I chose to do worse than nothing. I’d never seen life leave a body with my own eyes and I wanted to stare death in the face, to tell it I wasn’t afraid of what comes next. I wanted another to sacrifice everything so I could have the courage to stand on my own.

And now, I beg for forgiveness. This is my sin.

By James Ong, May 2023