I Should Have Jumped.

I had a thought earlier. A twisted idea.

After removing the screen from my bedroom window, I took a deep breath, held back tears, and leaned out, tilted forward, on and on, until I felt the tips of my toes leave the floor, until I felt myself lose all support, all balance. Letting free all suppressed air, I tilted back into my room, felt the firmness of flooring beneath my feet.

I sat, then, on the windowsill, feet dangling over the edge, perched ever so precariously. Music blaring behind me from inside my cave, my cage, my haven, my cell, I glances down and thought, What if I fell, what if I jumped?

I could have just fallen. No one would know for hours.

My mother or father would knock on my door sometime tomorrow afternoon. There would be no answer. They would knock and knock. Still no answer. They would assume I found a way to sneak out, to escape. They would break down the door, raging, ready to punish me. They would find an empty room, empty cage, empty cell. They would see the open, screen-less window, curtains flapping open and close in the wind. They would approach the window with suspicion, expecting to find a ladder which I'd have climbed down to escape their tyranny. They would see my body lying there, mangled and tangled, a bloody mess. They might gasp. Maybe scream. They would not cry.

I could only hope they would feel pain. Shame. Misery. Disgust. Responsibility.

Such an intriguing thing it is. That in an instance, one's life could end by something as simple as a shift in weight, a loss in balance, an every day body movement. That in an instant, one could feel such opposite things- fear and comfort. That in one brief moment, something so diverse could be so simultaneous. Fear of what is to come. Comfort in no longer having to fea