• I sit here on my window ledge thinking.
    My legs swing freely as if they had no worries and fears of falling thirty feet, and why should they? It’s not their fault they walked me into my room and climbed onto the chair that directed me towards the open window. It was I who forced my legs into this mess.
    The garden below waves as the plant leaves sway in the wind. “Please join us, it’s fun,” they plead.
    I watch them and ponder their request. I shimmy closer to the ledge.
    Should I? It would be easier; on me and everybody else. On the other hand; I’m afraid.
    “But we will hold on and guide you; new life!” cry the flowers.
    I shimmy some more.
    The wind is chilly but I don’t notice it due to burning sensation coming from the display of pain and spite slashed upon my body; a symbol of what’s inside me. It’s like a poorly drawn picture of the monster under my bed. As a child it’s always been there, but as we out grow that stage it creeps into the shady corners of our minds.
    The urge to fly is strong, but so is the fear.
    Suddenly, like a bomb exploding, my memories of agony and terror hit me as if I was shot with a bullet. I gasp and start to sob but no tears come. I shimmy out as far as I can.
    “One for the money,” I whisper, “two for the show.” My voice begins to turn into a croak.
    Confusion intrudes my thoughts. What happens next? Should I really? Maybe it's worse there? No, it can't be. I continue.
    “Three to get ready,” my vision starts to fog with delayed tears. My tone strengthens, “and g-go, go, go!”
    I fly. I feel alive yet dead, the wind, the flowers, the forgotten memories.