Here I stand, at the edge. Staring down at the ants twenty or so stories below me. Contemplating my next move.
Do I jump?
Hell, if I did, I'd finally get the attention I've been wanting ever since my mother left me. Right now, my dad is probably drunk of his ass, not even realizing I've left. All he cares about is his fifth of whiskey and the Seattle Seahawks.
He wouldn't miss me...
No one will...
"Hey!" I heard behind me, the sound of the unfamiliar voice awakening me. "What the hell are you doing?!" He advanced on me; I could hear his feet.
"What I should have done forever ago," I replied, and stepped over the edge.
The wind chilled me, almost pained me with the force it used against me. But gravity brought me down.
My screams were silent. In the movies, you could hear the shrill sound of terror the people would make, but me? Maybe the wind was too loud. I don't know.
I can see the concrete below me. Although my eyes are squinted, tighter than a sore muscle, I can see it.
And that's when I realized. My dad is this way because my mother's gone. He's just dreading her disappearance; unlike me, who's too busy thinking I'm a worthless mistake who no one loves, when really, my father just wants it all back to normal, like me.
That's when I realized he would miss me, and that I would have had a lot to look forward to. But it's too late.
I can feel the concrete.