She stood on the ledge of a sixty story building. She had climbed ten, twenty, thirty floors? She couldn’t recall. Only that it took a long long time to get to the top. She couldn’t recall when or where she had lost her red woolen moccasins, either. By the time she had reached the terrace, she was barefoot. Her labored breathing made her think of all the stair climbing, it had worn her will. Or was it life itself that had done it? It didn’t matter. The way down would be effortless.

People were convinced that she had lost the better parts of her mind, of which were few to begin with, a long time ago. Everyone could tell she was doomed. In her own way, she knew she had tried to satiate herself with the usual. Waking up early morning, getting ready for work she hated, coming home bone tired, and going back to sleep so she could repeat it all over again. Been there done that, she thought. But life wasn’t a one size fit all, and she had never fit in anything.

On the way up to the ledge of the building, she had stubbed her toe on one of the cement columns. She couldn’t see much in the dark. The injury was minor, it bled perhaps, there was no way to tell. Standing on the ledge, she peered down sixty floors onto the vein-like streets buzzing with car horns. She felt the winter pierce her stubbed toe, she winced at the pain. Then the music began. She didn’t know whether it actually played or was a figment of her frayed imagination but louder and louder it grew. “Life goes on… and the people sing their song,” it beckoned to her soul.

She pulled away and drew her attention to the fall beneath. The great escape she had longed for. Family, friends, obligations. She would fall and let it all crumble after her. Maybe then she could finally sleep, not having to wake up the next day. Since, that had been the hardest of all. She would love to not be able to wake up, but her toe kept stinging.

Staring at the lights whizzing past beneath, she placed a hand on her chest and felt the weight of her life. Heavy. It was almost time, but off went the song. “This hole in my heart’s proof of life.” Ba dump… Ba dump…. She got off the ledge.

“I know my heart’s missing a piece…. But it still beats…” She went home.

Stories. Sometimes of words, sometimes of people.

Stories. Sometimes of words, sometimes of people.