Out on the Edge
Four
Looking toward the skyline, she can tell it's getting late, even for her. It's nearing 3 A.M. She really thought she was going to do it this time. Everything in her brain was telling her that this was the only way out. She just couldn't push herself to do it. Even now, when she feels that she has lost everything, she is still terrified of death. Maybe that's why she comes out here all the time. She can sit here on the edge and know that there is still one thing that she is afraid of. It allows her to feel something, which she can never do anymore. Feeling was a privilege taken from her long ago.
She starts to gather her things: a bag filled with a notebook and her copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends. Her dad used to read her a poem from that book every night when she was little, before everything started to derail. Sometimes, when things got really bad, she'd take it out and read her favorite poem, The Loser. It always used to make her giggle when she was a child, seeing the boy sitting on his own head. Regardless, she carried it with her everywhere. It had become her security blanket. She even planned to take it with her when she jumped.
Grabbing her bag, she pushed herself up off the ground, dirt and gravel embedding themselves in the palms of her hands. She began walking in the direction of her home, the moon acting as her companion, following her. It was full tonight, her favorite kind. There were no cars on the roads this late at night, only the occasional twenty-something looking for a party. She liked this. She could walk the streets instead of the sidewalks.
It took her a good fifteen minutes to make it back to her house. She had to avoid the major roads. She didn't want a cop seeing her out this late. Curfew had been several hours before. The last thing she wanted was to give people another reason to call her crazy.
She came to the corner of her street. She hated her street. There were too many streetlights and too many houses so close together. No one had any space to breathe. She turned in the direction of her house and saw a flash of something out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around. Nothing. She saw nothing. Maybe she really was crazy. She hated thinking someone was watching her. This was her time. Her space. She didn't want anyone tainting it.
She starts to gather her things: a bag filled with a notebook and her copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends. Her dad used to read her a poem from that book every night when she was little, before everything started to derail. Sometimes, when things got really bad, she'd take it out and read her favorite poem, The Loser. It always used to make her giggle when she was a child, seeing the boy sitting on his own head. Regardless, she carried it with her everywhere. It had become her security blanket. She even planned to take it with her when she jumped.
Grabbing her bag, she pushed herself up off the ground, dirt and gravel embedding themselves in the palms of her hands. She began walking in the direction of her home, the moon acting as her companion, following her. It was full tonight, her favorite kind. There were no cars on the roads this late at night, only the occasional twenty-something looking for a party. She liked this. She could walk the streets instead of the sidewalks.
It took her a good fifteen minutes to make it back to her house. She had to avoid the major roads. She didn't want a cop seeing her out this late. Curfew had been several hours before. The last thing she wanted was to give people another reason to call her crazy.
She came to the corner of her street. She hated her street. There were too many streetlights and too many houses so close together. No one had any space to breathe. She turned in the direction of her house and saw a flash of something out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around. Nothing. She saw nothing. Maybe she really was crazy. She hated thinking someone was watching her. This was her time. Her space. She didn't want anyone tainting it.
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