As he strained his eyes at the vault above tears formed from the effort. Without rhyme or reason, some part of him was actually hoping for a shooting star. He cursed himself for the cheesiness of the feeling which only renewed the desire to end his life which had brought him to this place.

The seconds ticked by, and with every one his resolution flourished and waned in turn. He could no more have predicted his actions than he could have wished her to stay, wished away his mistakes, or salvaged any one of a hundred drunken attempts to make things right. The time was nigh; he knew it without looking at his watch.

The sky went black. He blinked just to make sure his eyes were open; they were.

The night had turned pitch dark: no stars, no moon, and certainly no shooting stars. His gaze fell onto a great obsidian mass of nothing.

“God?” his voice ascended weakly among the echoing sounds of wind and wave, “Seriously? Seriously? Seriously.”

The heavens had spoken, the divine will revealed.

He jumped.