I GET EMOTIONAL | OPEN, BROKEN WRIST/HAND

[DYLAN,]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 460px; color: black; font-size: 9pt; line-height:115%; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px"]this totally isn't an excuse for dylan to be mia for 3 days while i'm away lol what

Dylan had always wondered how it was possible for people to be afraid of heights. Maybe back in the old days it was a more common fear because of the aeroplanes and rollecoasters and helicopters, but then again, Dylan had never been higher than six stories. In the major cities he had always longed to climb the staircases of the skyscrapers but was drawn to the ground; it might have been unsafe, but that hadn't meant he was scared of heights. He enjoyed the dizzying feeling of vertigo and the uncertainty of falling, the adrenaline rush and the views. In fact, the brown haired boy was sitting on the edge of a second story building to watch the sunset. His long legs were dangling carelessly over the edge and his arms gripping the bricks around him. It was cooler now, the fire was pretty much gone, just the last few lingering patches in the distance. The lack of fire made him a little happier yet seeing his home in ashes and blackened with smoke was not heartbreaking, but more... saddening.

He sighed and dug the neon pink lighter from the back pocket of his jeans. Despite it being a bad time for a smoke, he was dying for his daily fix and had no plans on waiting any longer. The young adult cupped the cigarette and lit it, but the minute a flame appeared from the lighter it slipped from his fingers. "Shit!" Dylan hissed as the pain of the flame touched the skin on his thumb; he dropped the lighter instantly, the small object falling between his legs and towards the pavement below. He blinked in surprise and made a grab for the lighter, only to have his hands meet empty air.

The momentum of the grab was a bad decision; his body began to slip from the edge of the roof."No-" Dylan's groaned in annoyance as he felt himself fall off the side completely. For a few moments he was weightless and the feeling was weirdly enjoyable, but then eyes widened in horror as the ground ran up to meet him, and then it was darkness.

He was laying on the pavement on his back, his wrist tucked under his lower back and his left temple trickling with a weak, thin stream of crimson blood. The first thing he noticed was the intense pain that was burning through his right hand and wrist; it was the same pain he had felt as a young child, back when his mother could patch him up after he was used as a punching bag: Broken limbs, a sprain at the least. "You fucking idiot." He grumbled to himself as he hauled up from the ground, shifting his right arm into view so he could get a good look at the new injury. His wrist was completely broken and his hand stuck out towards his body, almost like a cartoon of some sorts. It looked disgusting and abnormal but now he wasn't laying on it, the pain was manageable. Maybe being a punching bag for his father had increased his pain tolerance somehow. Do I just pop it back in place and hope for the best?

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tracking bc,, lazy