Flick. Flip. Catch.

Flick, flip, catch.

Flick, flip, catch.

“Heads, I jump. Tails, I don’t.”

Harold clutched the nickel and peered over the ledge.

Many stories down, the pedestrians of early morning were ants, bustling off to wherever they were going.

He didn’t care.

He’d buried a mother, father, wife, and daughter. Nobody wept for him.

Harold reset the nickel on the tip of his thumb and closed his eyes, feeling his old body sway in the breeze. His stomach backflipped as vertigo slithered through his spine.

“Heads, I jump. Tails, I don’t.”

Harold took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and flicked his thumbnail into the shiny coin.

It rose into the air, turning once, twice, thrice, and began sailing back down to his open palm.

A flash of black and white blurred in front of his face.

Harold shouted and flailed his arms, falling backward onto the roof with a crack. His tailbone rang with pain. Grimacing, he shifted onto his hip, gently palpating his tender rear.

“My nickel!”

Harold crawled to the ledge, eyes frantically scanning the bricks.

“Which way did it land?”

“Does it matter?”

Harold’s head whipped around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Heads, you jump. Tails, you don’t. Make a decision. Seize life by the throat.”

Harold turned again, finding a small bird hopping along the ledge. It was black-billed and white-breasted, with shimmering blue wings tucked at its side.

“It’s easy. Watch.”

The bird hopped toward him, holding something gleaming in its beak.

Harold growled, finding his nickel winking at him in the sunlight.

“Come here you wretched-”

The bird snickered and jumped off the ledge. It floated on the breeze for a moment, chuckling, before gliding back onto the roof.

“Give me my nickel, bird.”

Harold lunged forward, pain shooting through his tailbone.

The bird deftly hopped backward and flipped the coin into the air. It clattered onto the roof, quickly covered by the bird’s foot.

“Heads, you jump?”

Harold growled and moved again, but his injured rear kept him glued to the rooftop.

The bird lifted its foot.

“Tails.”

Harold gingerly rubbed his tailbone and rolled onto his back, staring at gathering clouds.

“Get thee away, fowl.”

“Oh, you’re clever.”

The bird hopped onto Harold’s chest and cocked its head to the side.

Harold’s backside throbbed, leaving him no energy to swat the creature away.

“Why do you want to jump?”

“You wouldn’t understand, bird.”

“Magpie.”

“Whatever. Nobody cares.”

The magpie leaned its pointy beak into his nose.

“Nobody cares. You all like to think that.”

Harold grunted.

“You wouldn’t be the first to choose this roof,” clucked the magpie. “I’ve collected a lot of nickels up here.”

Harold groaned and rolled over.

The magpie hopped onto the ledge and gazed down at the growing river of traffic.

“The last guy saw it coming, too. He jumped anyway.”

“Saw what?”

“That lady, losing her baby. Well, it wasn’t that lady, but you’d be surprised how often ladies leave babies in strollers down there.”

“What?”

Harold hauled himself up and gazed over the ledge.

Sure enough, several blocks up, a young woman was rummaging in her purse in front of a parking meter. Just behind her sat a bright yellow stroller, a small bundle squirming inside.

“Last fellow sat there, same as you. Watched until…”

As if on cue, a dense pack of men in suits rushed past the woman. One of them bumped into the stroller sending it moving ever so slightly.

Harold’s eyes bulged and he forced himself to his feet, pain searing his tailbone.

“But nobody cares,” squawked the magpie. “Not about you, not about the last guy, not about the baby. Might as well jump.”

Harold watched in horror as the stroller began drifting away from the unaware woman.

After a moment of deliberation, he forced himself to the rooftop’s door, threw it open, and began the most painful stairway descent of his life.

“Can I keep your nickel?” cawed the magpie as the door shut.

Every step was lighting through his legs, but Harold forced himself down the stairwell.

Nobody cares. Might as well jump, echoed the magpie in his head.

It was true. Fifteen years alone in a studio apartment, pension barely paying his rent, and nobody had cared.

But Harold didn’t care about that right now.

He barreled down the stairs, jumping the last few steps to an excruciating landing, and burst outside, eyes frantically searching the road ahead.

The woman was crying hysterically now, but she was blocks away and the stroller was fast approaching a busy intersection.

Harold clenched his jaw through agony and ran into the street, dodging honking taxis and annoyed bicyclists.

The stroller was screaming toward the intersection now, a stream of traffic blocking the way ahead of him.

“STOP!”

But he could only watch as the stroller careened toward the whipping river of traffic.

Harold took a breath, then hobbled into the road. He maneuvered past the first two lanes, but then found himself stuck on the median between zooming cars. A large truck loomed toward him, the driver swiping away on a cell phone.

Harold looked up in horror as the stroller hopped off the curb and into the street.

He leapt forward into the oncoming truck’s shadow, catching the stroller and wrapping his arms around the shrieking baby.

Harold braced for impact.

Air whooshed behind him and the sound of grinding metal screamed into the intersection.

Harold slowly opened his eyes to find the truck driver exiting his vehicle, rubbing his head, staring at a nickel that had lodged itself in his windshield.

The woman ran toward Harold, tears streaming from her face as she thanked him profusely. She sobbed, clutching the baby to her breast.

Harold, still in shock, noticed a shadow perch onto the destroyed traffic light, cocking its head.

He swore the magpie was smiling.

“Somebody cares.”