I clutch the small, frozen ledge my life depends on.

          My back is turned towards the harsh wind. It rips at my coat, and the heavy weight of it begs for the inevitable drop.

          My thighs sink deeper into the frost-bitten wall, and I look up from the ground to face the world one last time. My vision is foggy, is this the last I see of this horrible world?

          Finally, I close my eyes, and let go. The world around me seems to collapse, folding my thoughts into themselves.

          Wind, what happened to the wind? Is it not to scream in my ears of the mistake I’m making? Or is its silence a voice of disapproval of its own?

          None of it matters anymore.

          I touch the rivers sleek ice sheet, and am enveloped into its freezing water, it welcomes me to my true ending.

          Frost liquid surrounds me, and my face is struggling with the extra pressure.

          I let my lips part, ever so slightly, and harsh, disgusting water fills in.

          Lungs are filling up with this concoction, and I let them. They puncture the walls, stealing my breath, bit by bit. 

          Black spots crowd my eyes, taking away my vision piece by piece until I see only a glimmer of the white sky, waiting for the release I’ve yearned for-

          My alarm goes off. 

          I  peel my eyes open and stare at the popcorn ceiling above me, full of endless grooves and mountains of their own.

          I continue drowning, stillness for one beat.

          Two. The world stays silent.

          I gasp, soaking in all the air I can find, eyes wide with realization of what I’m trying to do, and I lay panting while I decide wether or not to move.

          My answer comes once the yelling starts.

          “Micheal Goldfrin Hill! Did you leave your goddamn shoes on my counter?” 

          A gentle “coming mama” follows and I groan as I realize the bathroom will be hogged soon. 

          Grabbing clothes, I feel on air as I whisk through my morning routine. I’m practically still falling when I rush down the stairs. To be truly honest, my family’s not a great sight to be seen in the morning. 

          Mama’s filled the house with the sweet aroma of burning eggs and toast, with colorful cereal scattered across the countertop. Shoes, keys, papers, and toys are stacked in what Drew and Ethan call ‘a sculpture’. The twins are content with what they’ve made. 

          I grab the toast and spread something in a jar over it, not caring whose hands have been in there at this point. Burning eyes stare at me as I do so.

          “Are you serious?” Micheals glare seems misplaced to me. Is he asking about the jar? I hold it out to him.

          “Want some?” I ask. He turns away in disgust. I try not to second guess it, there’s always something I’ve done wrong on a personal level with everyone here it seems.

          My father comes down the stairs to sit on his chair with coffee and a newspaper. I’ve always found this old fashioned. Micheal notices, too, and places himself in Dad’s sight to clean up some of the room.

          “You see Skye,” he said, after looking up from his paper. “Everyone around the house has a job to do, that’s how we earn our keep. You need to start helping out, too.” 

          I averted my gaze and nodded, not mentioning how the dog bowls are filled, or how the bathroom is clean, or the dishes that were magically done by someone-or, you know, me.

          I finish my toast and something spread, then grab my backpack to head out the door, only ducking to get out of Micheals reach. With a wave goodbye that goes unnoticed, I leave the threshold.

          The second I’m out of the house a weight is lifted. I feel... cleaner, in more ways than one. 

          My path is still crowded with sticks, which is something I promised myself to clean at some point, but never did.

          None of it matters. I have to keep repeating this to myself if I’m gonna make it through today.

          Unlike my dream, the air is only slightly cool in the Arkansas breeze. Sun shines through the thick branches that cover my journey, I’m able to look on and see the patterns it makes on the ground.

          I pass everything, and say my little goodbyes. To the dog that’s chained to the fence every morning. The old oak that’s been neglected for years. The hummingbirds at a feeder that hasn’t been filled for ages. Of course, I only say so in my head. No reason to give them doubt on my sanity.

          My vans slap the cement hard as I look at the time and start to speed up. No eyes truly follow me, but pinpricks of them are all over my skin.

          I notice another person running behind me, and I spare a glance. I mentally groan, it’s that one kid in the back of most my hours. 

          What’s-his-name is this emo wannabe that tries to stick out in the most lone-wolfish way possible. The normal; bleachers at lunch, desk farthest from the teachers, and overall invisible on the social chart.

          Despite my thoughts on him, I keep the door open and wait for him to rush inside.

          Surprising me, he stops once inside and waits for me to catch up.

          “Thanks.” Emo guy says. Then he turns and runs off. Nevermind about the surprising part, kids like him are always odd.

          It doesn’t matter, all will be over soon. I need to remind myself of this, or else I’m truly never gonna get through these classes.

          I end up being late to my class, after meeting up with Jennifer at my locker. Jennifer is bland, she seems to have no opinions on anything, and tries to stick onto the sports guys. She was dating my ex-boyfriend-no one knew about me and him of course-until a few days ago, and now is going after me. Go figure. It pains me to be nice to her.

          As I walked in, my teacher slips me a detention slip. I’m not surprised, but I’m at least grateful for the discreteness. As I head to my seat I notice that emo guy is already sitting there, which seems unfair. 

          Mrs. Kinnien starts her role call, and I take it as my cue to start unpacking. My face reddens a bit as she calls my name, but my eyes remain glued to the desk.

          My ears only prick up when she calls “David Brooks.”, and I hear the guy I let in call “present.” David. David, David, David. Possibly the last person I’ll ever be kind to.

          I have David-I’m glad to have the name- in English, Science, History and Art. I never noticed how little he talks during the classes, and I realize how I only care once I think I’ll be gone.

          My classes feel uneventful, and seem to blur together. I ignore my homework at study hall, there’s no use to it. I finally head to my last hour, art. At least I can be creative there.

          My art project is going nowhere. We’re supposed to draw a charcoal portrait of a Major Historical Figure, our limits being the first 20 presidents. I was assigned to draw President George Washington, but I can’t seem to get his hair right. My teacher adores me, but people have never been my strong suit. A bad grade will probably follow.

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          I turn in my mostly sketch charcoal, but my eye catches on the one before me. It’s a portrait of Thomas Jefferson, and it looks so real, so much like the actual Jefferson, that I half-believe he’s about to blink. I check the name, and am amazed to find that it’s David’s.

          With the last class over, I get ready to head back to Mrs. Kinnien’s detention. It seems like David is following me, so I wait a second, then confront him. 

          “Where you heading to?” I ask, expecting him to say his locker. “Detention, same as you I’m guessing. Mrs. Kinnien practically gave me a lecture in front of the class, when you came in after me, it was a clear line of favoritism.” Whatever face I made must have been funny, because he actually laughed at it. 

          “Mrs. Kinnien not your favorite too?” He was taunting me at this point, he had to be. I sighed, and replied, “No.” He frowned at me, and we were silent for a bit.

          “I just remembered, I saw your charcoal drawing, it was incredible.” He was kind of stunned, I don’t think he was expecting me to speak again. “Thanks.” We resumed silence, and it was a bit more tolerable.

          Oh David, I hope more people notice you. I hope what I’m going to do doesn’t affect you, though I doubt it will. 

          Detention lasted longer than I had anticipated, and I had to book it to get to the lake. The subway there was late too, naturally. Is the world trying to stop me?

           I was expected home for dinner, but my family wouldn’t notice I was gone.

          What I do every day is really going to seem strange, I’ll try to talk you through it. You see, there’s a lake near my house-close enough to walk to, far enough from eyesight. This lake... well, it’s been a stand in for my therapist after we stopped being able to afford it.

          Here’s how it works: no matter how angry I am, or happy I feel, or how close I am to tears, I must whisper my highlights, and my lowest points, of the day. I know it’s weird, stay with me. After I do so, I give a scale of one to ten on my rate of suicidal urges, one being about to get the noose, ten being its the last thought on my mind. 

          Today will be the one and only 0.

          To keep my routine for the last day, I tell my story.

           I say how I learned the name of a kid, and how I wish him well. I recall the homework assignments I’ll never finish. I say my short prayers to my family, who’ll notice my absence in about a week. I say how I’ll miss the drawings I’ve made, and all the pictures I’d never taken.

          I stand up and brush the dirt off my knees, ready to head to the bridge. 

          What I’m not ready for is the sound of muffled laughter.

          I usually am here before dark, and I’m  able to check if anyone’s nearby. Apparently, the one day while the nights out and I’ve lost reason to care, there’s a person. Listening to all I said.

          “Ok, funny. Who is it?” I call into the night. The laughter stops, then comes again in a round without anything muting it. Embarrassment crawls on my skin, I wasn’t expecting an audience.

          My answer is given when I hear a thud from a nearby tree, and I run over while they scramble to get up. Coincidence, probably not, but I find David on the floor, still laughing his ass off. 

          “What the hell are you doing here?!” I whisper-shout at him, he needs to keep it down, or else someone’ll call the police, and I’ll have to go through another day while this is on hold. 

          “What have you been /talking about/? You’re just sitting there, in /my spot/, rambling about the most pathetic things! ‘Oh, my dogs, I’ll miss my dogs, and my photos and camera too!’ Don’t you get a professional for these things?” He has a grin on his face while he says this, whereas I am mortified. I hadn’t taken into account running into someone here.

          My eyes well with tears, and his grin fades from his face. I have to say something, something to get him away. 

          Not much comes to mind.

          “Um, so what was that all for anyways?” The words feel more sincere this time, but I don’t really want to tell him. 

          “I’m just- I’m just gonna go. I’ve got something to do.” It’s the lamest response in history, but the amount I care is microscopic. 

          I head over in the general direction of the bridge, I know my way through the trees at this point. I’ve been doing this for... three years? Four? I’ve lost count. I keep my ears up and try to listen if David has moved, but I haven’t heard anything. 

          I pass the stumps that assure me I’m going the right way, and the railroad tracks almost trip me, but I steady myself. 

          The cobblestone is in front of me again, I’ve imagined this moment for so long, to be executing the plan now feels like muscle memory. I hear the rushing water below, and I’m aware that I’ll eventually end up in the lake again. If the fall doesn’t kill me, the water will. Not knowing is exciting in its own way.

          I sit down, my back is at the wind. If I sit with my legs dangling over the edge, I tend to wave them. The childish act might make me believe I actually want to stay in this world. This is the better option.

          I’m sweating now. I wore my favorite outfit, a mustard colored sweater with jeans and an undershirt. A sauna in school, but it’s nice against the cold air. I didn’t expect me to be nervous, I would’ve ditched the undershirt.

          I take a deep breath, this is what I’ve been waiting for, what I’ve wanted and tried so desperately to stay away from. Ultimately, I knew it would come to this.

          Gripping the ledge one last time, I let go, and wait for gravity to do the rest.

          What I was not waiting for was someone gripping my lower body, pulling me up. There was only one other person that knew I was here, but it seemed unlikely.

          I let out a small “boof” as my back hits the wall, and I’m pulled up and over the ledge. I sit with my legs sprawling out, and I look up to face him.

          His face is disgusted, and he’s panting. I’d imagine he ran over in a small amount of time, after seeing my intention, and considering I hadn’t heard him follow me.

          “Skye, what are you /doing?/“ He looks as if there are tears in his eyes, but I might be imagining it. 

          I don’t have a good response. “You know what I was doing. Why did you stop me?”

          He groaned and walked in a circle until his back faced me. After a few seconds he turned back, his face more kind than before. “I have a place to talk, come with me. Please?” He added.

          Not having much choice, I followed him. I’d rather turn and jump off again, but I’m scared he’d catch me again, or call someone for help. 

          He led me through the woods, past my landmarks that I had grown to know. At the railroad, he turned right, and continued down. He kept turning around to check if I was still there, and unfortunately, I was. We walked until the train was in sight, and we stopped in front of an open cart.

          David crawled into the train cart, then turned back and held out his palm. I took it and got on the train. Curious, I asked, “Is this mobile? Or legal? To sit up here I mean.”

          He leaned back and answered casually, “I’ve done it a thousand times. Should be steady for a while, I always leave before it moves. I think the important thing here isn’t if this is legal or not.”

          I brace myself, I know the question, but I can’t come up with an answer. “What made you think no one would notice?” I scrunch my eyebrows. That’s not exactly what I’d been expecting. 

          I was about to speak before he cut me off, “What about Jake? Or Peire, Sandy, Zoe, Mark, Dylan, Jessica, or literally anyone at the school? You think they wouldn’t notice? Or care?” He paused, trying to gauge my reaction. I tried to not give it. “Do you even know how many people would cry over you? The weeks of, ‘I should’ve seen the signs, I wish he’d talk to me about it, I can’t believe this could ever happen to sweet, sweet Skye’!”

          There’s the point, he didn’t understand. “Ok, sure. For, let’s say, a week- I’ll be missed. I’m their butt of jokes, the source of some laughter, and sometimes I give fun ideas.” I pause, relishing in the good things I bring.

          “But?” He started. Was he truly curious here?

          “But, after a bit, they’ll move on. They’ve got lives without me. There’ll be another funny person, one without the baggage I bring. Jake’s proven he can find another person, and Jennifer was a lost cause anyways.”

          His face scrunched up trying to process the last bit- no one was aware of me and Jake. I think David’s far enough from popularity that it wouldn’t matter that I told him.

          After a minute passes, he tries again. “You really don’t get it? After you take the plunge, people would change. Our school would feel terrible without you there.”

          The gesture would be sweet if I believed it. David then took up the courage to ask me the question I had assumed.

          “Why’d you decide to do it?” His voice was soft here, it gave me the illusion he cared. Humorous, since he probably didn’t. 

          “For the same reasons anyone would. The worlds great, but the people are shit. Life’s against you, and I can’t handle it. I know I can’t.” I crawl deeper into the cart. He follows.

          “There’s so many good things I try to focus on, like drawing or photography- anything I enjoy. But it’s the same conclusion, can’t you see it?” His face is still confused and worried, I’m not sure he’ll grasp what I’m trying to say.

          “Everything is decided by people. How we talk, dress, think, learn; and those people are assholes. Manipulative, power grabbing assholes. It doesn’t matter what we want to do, we have to follow the rules of society. I can’t keep up.” I try to see through the tears. When did they get there?

          “It moves to fast, I try to keep going but it all just falls back on me. Whatever I do is unnoticed, everything I find beautiful is torn down, and the people I need are out of my reach. I just, I can’t. Not anymore.” 

          I feel a lurch, then the train is moving. Both of us are wide-eyed, we’d stayed too long. 

          David scrambles to the edge, and I follow, seeing that it’s already moving too fast to jump out.

          I’m truly panicking now. I had expected tonight to be the lake, the bridge, then I’m done. I hadn’t imagined other scenarios. I feel like an idiot for not considering anything else.

          It sucks, because I have a feeling this’ll be the start of something much, much worse than jumping off that damn bridge.

~end of chapter 1~