I stare out the window at the world below me and for just a second, I imagine what it would be like to jump from the window. It is a question I’ve asked myself over and over. It is not that far of a fall, two stories, so it would be over soon. What would it feel like, the wind pushing back my hair for that single instant, the ground racing toward me . . . or am I racing toward the ground. I think it might be more like when Alice falls down the rabbit hole, a feeling of forever falling, but maybe just taking a quick second. Would my life flash before my eyes? I hope not, I don’t want to relive a second of it, especially in my last seconds. More importantly, though, would I die? Would two stories be enough, or would I just horribly injure myself? If I horribly injure myself, would I want to put up with the agony of these injuries? I’ve been through so much pain before, could I handle this. Could I make myself numb to the pain? I press my hand to the glass, the cool pane instantly warming against my hand. If I threw myself out of the window, what season would I do it in? I’ve always thought that it would be best in the autumn, getting to fall like a leaf to the ground. Of course, I would be much less graceful than the colorful leaves. I would fall more like a piece of lead. A cold, colorless piece of metal, an object more than a person. I think I would do it at night, because I love the night so much more, with its secrecy and shadows all veiled under the beauty of a silver moon. Eventually my thoughts lead me to the part that I get stuck at in my long, rambling thoughts. If I died, who would miss me? Probably my family, depending on the day. On a bad day, maybe a little less than if it was a good day. A few people would probably miss me, like my closest friends. To everyone else, I might just be one more person. One more insane person who got rid of their god- given gift of life, and only He has the right to take it from anyone. I’ve always wondered about this ‘gift’, and why god, if there is one, is so bent one screwing mine up. Why is this forgiving figure putting all this in my life, like some kind of sick joke, or a sign to others on how not to act? I never got this, and I doubt I ever will. I stare back out at the window, looking at the world below. What would it be like to jump from this world I am in, leave it all behind me as I fall, finally escaping its grasp.