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.
Grade
9
Contest