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Hi! This is a sort of experimental story where I decided to challenge myself. Hope you enjoy it. If you review and would like me to return the favor, just message me with what you'd like me to read. Thanks!

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She can’t see more than five feet in either direction because of the thick snowfall. Snowfall like stinging projectiles, stabbing her face and hands as she nears the railing, glancing down. Down towards the river, the pieces of ice straggling along like a parade of kindegarteners who don’t know whom they’re following.

Following her is a man; she knows he’s there, but she can’t make herself turn. Turn and its all over. Over, because if she sees his face, she knows she won’t be able to do it, knows she won’t, but she has to. To make sure they’re safe. Safe with their father, the same man who followed her here. Here to the bridge, to the edge. Edge of night, edge of stone, edge of the line. Line her problems up one by one, and anyone could see why she’s doing this, why.

“Why?” he screams, “You can’t!”

Can’t breathe, can’t do it anymore, yes, she can’t take it anymore.

Anymore violence, anymore of the voices, of the visions, of the things she’s not supposed to be seeing because the medication should be working, and she’d snap. Snap at her children, snap at her husband, snap and ruin everything. Everything could be averted, if she just leaned a little further.

Further behind her, she could sense people stopping to stare. Stare at this woman, in her quaint little dress, wearing nothing but a shawl because she wouldn’t be cold for long, would she? She grips the icy barrier with her fingers, squeezing until the knuckles are white. White puffs of snow momentarily block the water below, and she thinks maybe now. Now while it looks like only a few feet.

Feet in brown boots enter her field of vision when she glances towards the stone again.

Again, she refuses to see him, tries to block out his words.

“Words cannot describe how much I... please, please, don’t do this,” he whispers.

Whispers softer than the voices, the voices who drive him out of her head, consume her mind, her memory, confusing her as to what is real.

Real, the rail is real, the pain from her fingers freezing to the metal is real; she uses it to focus. Focus on putting her foot on the barrier, focus on climbing over and balancing.

Balancing between two worlds, the living and the dead.

Dead to her now, the rest of the world’s chatter falls on deaf ears. Ears chilled by wind that blows her dark hair behind her.

Her husband, her love, her life, grabs for her.

Her eyes slide closed as she steps forward.

Forward, he lurches, scrambling for anything he can grab onto, “No!”

No more terrorizing the children, no more of this, whatever this is. Is he aware of what he’s doing by trying to save her?

Her fingers uncurl in the frigid air. Air escapes her lungs in a puff as she sighs. Sighs because she can. Can anyone see the tear, now solid on her face?

Face the music, her mother always said. Said she had to take responsibility, so she tried. Tried to tell them that there was pain, and then there was this.

This was the last time she could show him it was alright, reassure him everything would be okay. Okay, now smile, softly of course, and open your eyes, then...

Then just let go.