I wrote this story the night I found out I wouldn't be able to go to Vancouver Film School. This was 16 years ago.
He stepped up to the ledge and looked out over the canyon as it opened in front of him. He knew that the immense distance from the top to the bottom could be measured, probably right down to the nearest centimeter. But standing there, as he felt the brisk wind on his face, kissing him gently with its mingle of Spring and Winter, the precipice seemed beyond calculation. The whole splendor of the canyon and the sunset was distantly beautiful. The temperature change was also significant as night crept in from the east, and the entire situation left him feeling as if isolation was being forced on him. He watched until the sun was just a sliver on the horizon, "me and you together then," he whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment and turned slightly to the left. When he opened them, he was facing his car, blood red in the final linger of daylight, he could see his note. The small overlook was obscure and underdeveloped and as a result, there were no artificial lights available. The white notebook paper he used was taped to the windshield and though he could not read it from such a distance he had memorized it completely, it was very simple actually. It was only seven words long.
"I'm sorry, goodbye, I love you all," he said aloud to himself. The last three were the most important and he let them roll aroud inside his head while he closed his eyes and turned back to the cliff. He stepped forward leaned out and disappeared over the edge. The last thing he remembered was his own voice..."goodbye, I love you all."