You know why they call them Heaven Spots? Because if you fall from that place up there, there's only a couple places you're gonna' go.

Kuma always found those jokes a bit morbid. But considering how Skullz died, he wasn't wrong. Died painting a watertower. That factory's been on the city's demo list for 30 years. Skullz is still up there. He became a regional legend, and he wasn't a bad cousin either.

Kuma glanced at the sides of the rail he found himself on. And while people always tell you 'don't look down', he marveled at the cars as they rushed by three stories below. It was a local rite of passage. This bridge was meant for freight trains to cross the river. That didn't stop the state from building a freeway underneath it.

The way to get in was simple. Deadly if you do it wrong. But simple. Make sure the tracks are clear. Walk to the main span. Scale the retaining wall. Climb down to the bottom of the beams, and shimmy to the pilings. That's a place to rest your extra cans. Then find a spot on the ledge, and start painting. To leave, simply repeat the previous steps. Make sure not to climb into the path of a train.

He began filling in the outline carefully. This was meant to be a big one. First layer red. Second layer Tangerine. The outline would be black over white. Second color goes down first.

The person standing on the ledge with him almost made him slip off. Kuma grabbed the overhang and pulled himself closer to the metal. It didn't make sense. People didn't sneak up on him like that. This guy hadn't made a single noise, but he couldn't have been ten feet away.

He was young. Probably younger than him. College, maybe high school aged? He wore an orange puffer jacket. The color making him stand out against the hazy tan of the night sky. Almost a similar hue to the paint on the wall.

"You're hitting my spot?" He yelled to Kuma.

"Your spot?" Kuma replied over the wind. There wasn't any other tag here on this end of the bridge.

"Yeah, my spot." The man yelled back.

"...Well, we'll just have to share then." Kuma remarked. He made sure to watch his footing. Looking up, the man had gotten closer. How he had no clue.

"Got anything this color?" He said, pointing at his jacket.

Kuma handed him the can he just finished using. The other man grabbed the can and went to work. Fast. Too fast. He barely held the overhang as he went down the rail doing letter after letter. Before long, he switched to a light yellow. The orange can had ran out and he tossed the empty to Kuma. It was too far out however, and the can shrank into a flying dot somewhere below.

"You better hurry up." The other writer mentioned. "You can't stay here forever. You'll fall off."

Kuma agreed silently. And the pair worked together in tandem. Every once in a while, closing into trade a can. For some reason, the other writer kept producing cans from his jacket. Up to at least 10. There was no way.

It wasn't until he'd put the finishing signature on his work that Kuma leaned to read both names. Kuma. And Avon.

That couldn't be right. From what he remembered about the guy that wrote that handle. He'd been dead maybe 20 years.

"Avon?" Kuma asked over the traffic.

"Yeah?"

"Are you related to Avon?" He asked further.

"Have we met?" Avon asked him, leaning way too far towards the edge.

"Did you paint Melba Square? For Y2K?"

The reply came after a moment of silence. "I haven't been over there in a long time."

"Been a long time." Kuma agreed.

Avon dropped his hand and held it flat like he was measuring something. "You were real little. I didn't know if you remembered me."

"How could I forget?" Kuma answered. His grip shifted. "Hey...." He paused. "Where's Skullz? Did you know him?"

"Know him?! We were best friends!" Avon admitted. "Last I remember... He wanted to paint the old foundry uptown."

Kuma wanted to ask more. But rumbling overcame him, and he held on tight as possible as the structure shuddered. A train was passing overhead. A long one. A cold breeze reminded him to look over. Avon had somehow closed the gap. He could see the features of someone who hadn't been alive for some time.

"Why are you still here?" Kuma tried to ask over the noise.

"I've always been here. We always will be." Avon explained.

"Why?"

"This doesn't stop." Avon answered. "None of this will ever stop."

He studied Kuma's concerned look. He was getting tired. It wasn't time yet.

"Go home, Kuma. You did good."

"How?"

"You're still alive." Avon answered.

The roar of the train carried on. Shadows cutting off the little glimpses of overhead light one could get.

"It's been fun." Avon waved. "But this is my stop."

And with one of the reverberations of the train, Avon's right foot missed the railing. He didn't make a sound as he fell and rolled through the air into the dark. Kuma reached for him, but stopped himself and grabbed the overhang again.

His body wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere.

After the train passed, it took some careful climbing to get back onto the tracks and walk to the end. Crawl through weeds and over rocks, through fences to the tracks and to the ground below.

Avon would have landed right here. Kuma checked the traffic nearby as it flew by at highway speeds. No way to survive a fall like that. Nothing but dirt, concrete and gravel to hit. Above, he saw his name. Avon's name was also there. How, he had zero clue. However, on the next piling, there was another tag. One he never noticed on his way up on his way down.

It was a skull.

I figured this character deserved a second shot. So here's some worldbuilding. r/Jamaican_Dynamite