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               July 1st, 2010 – Month's First Suicide Case: Man jumps off fifth story of Houston hotel.

               Gerard looked down at the frail skeleton. That's all that this body was, after all – a skeleton of the lively girl that he had raised and had just graduated from eighth grade, and who had cared if she had a brain defect? As long as she took her medication she'd be fine, fine... Gerard's wife sobbed into his arm.
               "And there's nothing more you can do, Doctor?" he whispered.
               The exhausted physician shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. The stroke was too severe. There's no way she'll get out of a vegetative state now. Mr. Manken,"the doctor added gravely, clearing his throat, "you have complete custody over your daughter. Sooner or later, you'll have to decide between disconnecting her –"
               "But she's not dead!" The woman scowled at the doctor through her tears.
               "Abigail is brain dead, Mrs. Manken."
               "I don't care, I don't care! I'm not just letting her die! Gerard, you aren't letting them kill her!" she sobbed.
               Gerard massaged his temple, tears rolling down his own face. "We need time to think."
               The doctor nodded grimly. "We need to know by Thursday."

               "Gerard?"
               "Mmm?"
               "You aren't letting them kill her," she whispered, her voice barely audible above Larry King.
               Gerard turned off the television. Silence.
               "You can't let them kill her."
               "Eve, she's not even–"
               "She is! She is alive! And she deserves to live out her life, and I need her Gerard, I need my Abigail with me! I— I...." She dissolved into tears, and Gerard held her in a close embrace. What in the world do I do?

               Gerard stood on the balcony of his hotel room; the view from the tenth story was spectacular. Houston's lamps and chandeliers and desk lights and candles created an undulating, artificial starfield that glimmered and mocked him from a distance. A light wind was blowing, but the humidity choked him nevertheless – ah well, one more thing he would not miss.
               He maneuvered himself over the railing, first one leg, then the other, until he was standing on the outside edge with the railing pressed against the back of his ribcage like an uncomfortable chair, but somehow more comfortable than the constant chair he was leaving behind.
               He could hear Eve inside, talking to an Abigail that wasn't there anymore. And all of a sudden, remorse filled Gerard's heart and mind, it attacked every cell in his body, it empowered him to let go of the rail and allow himself to drop and stumble down through the stale and humid air. As the unforgiving concrete came ever closer at an equally unforgiving speed, Gerard whispered, "I'm sorry, Abigail. I'm so sorry I did this to you."
               And then came the crash. The crunch of bone. One small moment of scintillating pain, and then nothing.
               Eve walked out onto the balcony. "Gerard, dear, could you help me feed Abigail while I go out and buy some more diapers and other – Gerard?"

Description
               July 1st, 2010 – Month's First Suicide Case: Man jumps off fifth story of Houston hotel.

               Gerard looked down at the frail skeleton. That's all that this body was, after all – a skeleton of the lively girl that he had raised and had just graduated from eighth grade, and who had cared if she had a brain defect? As long as she took her medication she'd be fine, fine... Gerard's wife sobbed into his arm.
               "And there's nothing more you can do, Doctor?" he whispered.
               The exhausted physician shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. The stroke was too severe. There's no way she'll get out of a vegetative state now. Mr. Manken,"the doctor added gravely, clearing his throat, "you have complete custody over your daughter. Sooner or later, you'll have to decide between disconnecting her –"
               "But she's not dead!" The woman scowled at the doctor through her tears.
               "Abigail is brain dead, Mrs. Manken."
               "I don't care, I don't care! I'm not just letting her die! Gerard, you aren't letting them kill her!" she sobbed.
               Gerard massaged his temple, tears rolling down his own face. "We need time to think."
               The doctor nodded grimly. "We need to know by Thursday."

               "Gerard?"
               "Mmm?"
               "You aren't letting them kill her," she whispered, her voice barely audible above Larry King.
               Gerard turned off the television. Silence.
               "You can't let them kill her."
               "Eve, she's not even–"
               "She is! She is alive! And she deserves to live out her life, and I need her Gerard, I need my Abigail with me! I— I...." She dissolved into tears, and Gerard held her in a close embrace. What in the world do I do?

               Gerard stood on the balcony of his hotel room; the view from the tenth story was spectacular. Houston's lamps and chandeliers and desk lights and candles created an undulating, artificial starfield that glimmered and mocked him from a distance. A light wind was blowing, but the humidity choked him nevertheless – ah well, one more thing he would not miss.
               He maneuvered himself over the railing, first one leg, then the other, until he was standing on the outside edge with the railing pressed against the back of his ribcage like an uncomfortable chair, but somehow more comfortable than the constant chair he was leaving behind.
               He could hear Eve inside, talking to an Abigail that wasn't there anymore. And all of a sudden, remorse filled Gerard's heart and mind, it attacked every cell in his body, it empowered him to let go of the rail and allow himself to drop and stumble down through the stale and humid air. As the unforgiving concrete came ever closer at an equally unforgiving speed, Gerard whispered, "I'm sorry, Abigail. I'm so sorry I did this to you."
               And then came the crash. The crunch of bone. One small moment of scintillating pain, and then nothing.
               Eve walked out onto the balcony. "Gerard, dear, could you help me feed Abigail while I go out and buy some more diapers and other – Gerard?"