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Grade
9

My mind argues against itself.  Forward.  Stop. I kick forward the slush on the seven-story high roof.  Forward.  My feet continue.  Stop.  I pause.  Forward.  I continue.  Stop.  I pause.  Forward.  I move again, and though I hear the Stop, I continue.  I try to convince myself why I shouldn’t.  Lea, think.  Why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you?  But my feet continue on, without consent from my heart.  I finally reach the edge. Icicles are jagged off the side, like daggers.  I see the snow float over families walking happily on the sidewalks of New York.  I see the business men and women walking frantically toward their next appointment.  I push my toes to dangle off the edge.  I look down once more, and my stomach drops. You can’t do it, you can’t.  This time I listen. I try to hurry off the edge, but as I frantically turn to be surrounded by the warmth of the office building,  my foot slips on the ice.  I drop.  My screams are covered by the sound of cabs beeping in traffic, and a single tear freezes on my cheek when it goes black.