Dustration

People say the soul has weight, I think they’re wrong. It’s what we carry inside that’s heavy. For me, it’s my suffocating depression that I live with day by day.

The neon ‘META’ sign across the street bathed the rooftop in a violent blue. My shadow stretched out long to the door—thin, but still there.

I leaned on the rusted railing of the rooftop of my apartment building—it creaked as I put more weight onto it. Looking down at Manhattan, I realized how… happy it looked… with its neon signs and people talking below—having fun on their night out. Not a worry about tomorrow.

It’s too late now.

I took a huge swig from a half-drunk gin bottle I had brought with me. Hated the taste. Still finished it. But getting drunk or high off my mom’s edibles is the only thing that’ll help me forget.

I put the bottle down once I finished it and began scrolling on my phone. I stopped upon seeing a news clip about Dusters.

A grainy clip of a hooded man played, his face partially obscured.

The new anchor spoke. "The threat of Dusters remains at large. Citizens are warned that while Dusters appear human, they can be identified by the fact that they possess no sha—"

I cut my phone off with a click.

I took a long drag from my vape that I pulled from my pocket, tasting the cherry-flavoured mist.

To the government, Dusters were monsters. To me, they sounded lucky. To be made of nothing? To have your heart turn to powder? To be wanted. That sounded like a dream.

Out of all the ways I try to numb my pain, vaping has always been the most available for a high school student in their senior year. It’s sad, really. My best friend is a vape and is worth twenty dollars, at least until I have to buy a new one.

Then it hit me, the memories. It all came rushing back. The memories that I tried to cover with a high or alcohol, but they always resurfaced.

The ghosts of each person, the bullies, my deadbeat mom, each person who brought me to this point, pushed me closer to the edge.

It was my mom, always ordering me around, while I got harassed at school.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

Why’d it have to be me? Why couldn’t I have a normal life, a normal family like everyone else?

The tears were streaming now.

I swung my body over the railing, so I stood at the edge of the building, still hanging onto the rails. Being this close to the edge and looking down, I realized how far of a drop thirty floors was.

This was it, all I had to do was let go, and the day-to-day torment would stop.

My fingers tightened around the railing without me telling them to.

I tried to loosen my grip. They didn’t listen.

Funny. I couldn’t hold onto anything in my life, but this rusted bar? I couldn’t let go of it

“How long are you going to keep staring?” a voice from behind me called out.

The noise startled me. I looked over to my right and saw a guy dressed in all black.

He looked about a few years older than I was, with brown hair, dark eyes, and a bit of facial hair.

“It’s a long way down,” he said, his voice sounding dry.

I turned my gaze back to the street below, trying to avoid eye contact with him.

“I know.”

“You’re not going to jump.”

“Huh? Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t answer. He turned so his back was against the railing. There was something odd about him; it wasn’t his appearance, but rather something around him. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“You ever notice how quiet the city gets about all that?” he said. “People down there think everything matters. It doesn’t quite look like that from up here, though.”

I glanced at him.

“If you’re trying to talk me down, it’s not working.”

He shrugged, leaning on the railing like he had nowhere else to be.

“It’s loud down there. None of it reaches you up here.”

I scoffed.

“Well, that’s kind of the point.”

A pause, then I reached into my pocket and pulled out my vape, turning it over in my hand.

“You want a hit?” I said, half-joking.

He looked at it for a moment, then shook his head.

“Don’t need it. I’ve got enough in me already.”

That made me frown.

“What does that even mean?”

“It stops doing anything after a while,” he said. “You just… ignore the pain instead.”

I took a drag anyway.

Cherry-flavour. Fake comfort.

“You talk like you’ve been through some dramatic life story,” I muttered.

“Everyone has a story,” he said. “Most don’t notice when they stop living.”

A pause stretched.

He nodded to my hand.

“You’ve been holding that for a while.”

I looked down.

My grip was still locked tight.

I hadn’t even noticed.

I really came up here thinking this was it. And I still couldn’t do it.

“Look, you’re really ruining the mood,” I snapped. “Go away.”

“I don’t think the mood’s the problem,” he said. “You’ve been up here too long.”

I tried to ignore him.

“You watched the news lately?” he said.

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“About Dusters.”

“What about it?”

He glanced at me, then faced the city.

“People think it's some contagious plague you can catch from being next to one,” he said.

A pause.

“It doesn’t spread.”

“Then what?”

“Dusters are created when nothing matters anymore.”

His words echoed in my head. If what he was saying was the truth, then could I be a Duster?

Then I felt something.

A push from behind.

I hadn’t noticed it, but the man had stepped behind me and pushed me off the ledge.

The world tilted, and I was now falling.

My heart, which I thought had gone silent, was now hammering in my chest.

“Wait—no! Stop!” I looked back up at the ledge, clawing at the empty air. I hated him. I hated the calm in body language. How dare he steal the only choice I had left?

“I didn’t—I wasn’t ready! You jerk!”

Everything evaporated. My apathy, my cool indifference. I was terrified of death.

People say your life flashes before your eyes before death.

I didn’t believe them, but my life was playing right in front of me. The good. The bad.

I saw my mom’s hand reaching for a bottle, but I also saw her hand tucked into mine when I was five. I saw the faces of my bullies, but then I remembered the only real friend I ever had. We got separated after junior high, though.

The good was there. Just buried.

I didn’t want to die. I wanted happiness again.

“I want to live!” I shrieked, the words tearing my throat. “I want to—!”

Then I realized what was so strange about that man.

He had no shadow.

I opened my mouth to scream, but the wind was rushing too fast. The pavement rose to meet me.

We collided.

The world went black for a moment, and I heard a ringing.

My eyes opened slightly. I didn’t feel my bones break.

“Am I… Am I dead?” I whispered, my voice parched. “I have to be dead. I fell. I fell so far.”

I sat up to look at my stomach, expecting a mess of red.

“Where is it?” I gasped. “Where’s the blood? Why isn’t there any blood?”

I looked around and saw a small circle of flashing iPhones and muffled gasps.

I noticed my right arm split open from wrist to elbow. What bled was a fine grey powder.

“W-What the hell?!” I stared at my torn, but somehow still functioning arm.

I stood up, despite my body aching. My movements were jerky and strange.

I had survived. The universe had granted my wish to live. But it extracted a price.

I looked towards the ground where I had landed and saw a pool of that grey powder. It wasn’t dust, was it? But more importantly, I didn’t see my shadow.

The circle of people began to close in—not to help, but to see. I saw the lights of a dozen recording phones.

“Stay back!” I shrieked. “Don’t look at me! Turn those off!”

A man in a suit stepped forward, holding his phone out like a shield. “Is that… is she one of them? A Duster? Look at her arm!”

I looked towards my cut arm, and the wound slowly began to reseal, leaving dusty residue on my skin.

“I’m not—I’m a person!” I sobbed. “I’m Taylor! I’m a high school student! I—”

I reached for them, but they stepped back like I was a ticking time bomb.

“I’m not a monster…” I whispered. I wiped my arms, trying to remove the dust.

It didn’t come off.

It never would.

Not because it was on me.

It was me.