I'm standing on top of the tallest building in the city. It's the one made of fragile glass panes that appear to be thick enough to protect you from the cold winter outside. You can see the crackling of chilled winter creeping along the glass, making its way to the top, to reach me. It's dead up here. Lonely. Hazy.
Those fat clouds are hanging heavily in the sky again, weighing in all around me; I'm suffocating in their hugs as I look down to the long drop below. The wind has blown my hair into a frenzy of what now looks like a nest. I can't move and pretty soon a bird will be making a home in my head.
I'm heavy, dead weight. I'm wavering in the wind, about to be pulled from my feet into a disturbingly delicate slumber. I'm the surrender before I sleep and I'll take it all with me as I climb down from this lonely existence. But those shadows of unfamiliar faces and hands are riding around the edges of my vision on broomsticks. I want to hide from them, but I can barely keep my head on my neck. My knees are weakening and I can already feel myself falling. I'm falling before I can climb down on my own.
And then there is silence. Pure, peaceful, quiet.
The pale body reaches the ground making one big thud, a splash of red pouring onto the beautifully decorated white pavement. Who was she? What was she doing up there in this winter windstorm anyway? The voices were talking to no one in particular.
It was me; it was my fault. I should have known better. I should have known the challenge was too much.