The City's Harsh Wind

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The wind can be harsh, the nights cold and the city lonely. Just one step can make it even more depressing.

Submitted: May 20, 2016

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Submitted: May 20, 2016



The beautiful city is below me. The windows ignited and the streets are busy.

The moon is above me and stars cover the night sky.

The wind blows in my face, it's shuffling my clothes and hair. 

The night is beautiful and young. Yet, somehow, I'm here.

Standing on the edge and gazing upon the view.

My makeup ruined from crying, clothes dirty from the mud and hair messy from running. 

My face, hands, legs covered in bruises and cuts. They hurt.

My eyes are hollow and emotionless. However, so many feelings and thoughts fly around in my head. So many that I have a headache.

Standing on the edge of a building isn't as easy as I thought it would be.

Sometimes the wind hits me so hard I stumble. So, I hold a fence with my left hand. My grip is so strong, that several drops of blood fell to the floor.

Staring on to the ground below me. At any moment, I can walk of the edge. 

Now, that I'm here, I stop and ask myself. Do I actually want to die?

I carefully dig into the depths of my heart and look for the answer.

I don't. 

I don't want to die. I'm here because I can't take it anymore. 

The pain, the suffering, I can't do it anymore.

However, somehow, I've fallen in love with this sadness. It's always with me when no one else is. My lifelong friend. 

At night, when I cry alone, I can count on the sadness to embrace me, to comfort me, to wipe the tears. That's something so simple, but it puts me at ease. 

I don't understand myself. Do I want it to stop or to stay with me forever?  

I'm so scared. I'm not scared of dying, but what would happen if I fail. Would I be put into an asylum? 

People would hate me even more.

Now a new question comes up. Why are people like this?

Why do some of us say things like 'go kill yourself' or 'you're such a bitch' even if they don't mean it. 

Why do they hurt us if they don't want to? Why?

What's the point? For us to actually kill ourselves? 

They don't have to walk on us for them to feel better. They can do better things. Like befriending someone like me. Care for them, not because of pity, but for who they truly are.

For their personality, not appearance. 

Crystal tears roll down my cheeks and fall like rain on the passersby bellow. The wind gets colder and tries to push me off.

If I will just jump, what would people feel? Guilt? Happiness? Would anyone notice or even care that I'm gone? Probably not.

"Oh well," I said. 

I ran my hand through my hair. It was long but one strand was incredibly short compared to the others. 

The sound of scissors cutting my hair resonated in my head. I will never forget what my "best friend" did.

A chuckle escaped my lips and now the few tears turned into waterfalls. 

I prepared for the one last step in my life. That step will determine everything.

"Sorry, if there is someone who cares, I'm sorry." I said with a shaky voice.

My feet felt heavy and it was difficult to move. After some effort, I managed to take that step.

The air hit my face. The fall felt like I was flying.

The ground kept getting closer and regret found its way into my heart.

I regret jumping, but I don't scream.

Now I can't see that beauty in front of me. It's all dark and cold. People's voices get more and more distant.

This is what death feels like.

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