When Jamie Reached the Climax of her Young Life
She shivered in her loneliness, knitted wrap hugging her bony shoulders.
"I am high," she thought to herself, "I am sloshed, sozzled, plastered, juiced."
It was snowing outside. The temperature had dropped so low that the windows had glazed two inches thicker with frost. She put her hand on the window and saw it outlined in white, dewy condensation.
Ron had left the fan on. It was an old, clinky metal thing from the 70's that spit out gusts in wallops. Why was it on? It was blowing a draft in her face, sending bang pieces and flyaways backwards.
"Ron did it on purpose," she thought, "To give me hypothermia."
She stood up on tall, wobbly legs, and attempted to keep her balance. The knitted wrap fell off of her shoulders, landing on the cold cement floor in a heap. She was naked; her skin erupted in goosebumps and her nipples became small, hard rocks. She teetered forward towards the window and opened the chipped sill.
"Jamie? What the fuck are you doing?" Ron came in through the doorway, plastered himself. He was bundled up in a blue checkered robe with a cigarette smoking between his fingers.
She looked back at him and turned a deaf ear. Through the unlatched window, frosty air flurried in and bit at her face. She could feel her lips and her toes turning blue. But she liked the feeling; the uncharted sensation of frigid air swallowing her bare bones. She felt almost comforted; the ice air swaddled her completely.
She could hear her name being spoken repeatedly in choppy fragments as she climbed up onto the windowsill. She felt like an animal, crouched and ready to pounce, with the arctic winds of January calling at her. She looked down at the city, which ran busy forty-two stories below her. Lights and sounds raced in a frenzy, and miniature figures bustled down as after-Christmas mechanisms.
She was a bird. She was a plane.
She was sure she could fly. Everything in her bones told her so; wings began to sprout forth from her spine, and thawed flesh broke at the eruption of feathers. She looked hard out at the city with steel blue eyes being marauded by vicious snowflakes.
"I can fly, I can fly, I can fly," she chanted to the beat of the whirling winds.
Ron was behind her now, grabbing at her skeletal ribs. She felt his balmy paws swipe at her body.
"He's giving me the impetus to fly," she thought. She smiled at her neglectful boyfriend and said, "I'm just going out for a while."
And with that, she jumped out, hyper-extending her legs, leaping like a frog. She waved her spindly arms out in front of her, as to swim. She felt the draft in her hair, through her body. Contented, she was finally free. Free at last.
And as she fell, plummeting downward, she was happier than she'd ever been before. Complete liberation devoured her spirit as she became weightless for the first time in her life. She was an angel, descending in unshackled bliss.
People walking the lonely streets halted in astonishment when Jamie reached the climax of her young life down on the pavement. But that didn't matter to Jamie- she was flying, happy, forevermore, free from the heavy manacles that had weighed her down for so long.
"I am high," she thought to herself, "I am sloshed, sozzled, plastered, juiced."
It was snowing outside. The temperature had dropped so low that the windows had glazed two inches thicker with frost. She put her hand on the window and saw it outlined in white, dewy condensation.
Ron had left the fan on. It was an old, clinky metal thing from the 70's that spit out gusts in wallops. Why was it on? It was blowing a draft in her face, sending bang pieces and flyaways backwards.
"Ron did it on purpose," she thought, "To give me hypothermia."
She stood up on tall, wobbly legs, and attempted to keep her balance. The knitted wrap fell off of her shoulders, landing on the cold cement floor in a heap. She was naked; her skin erupted in goosebumps and her nipples became small, hard rocks. She teetered forward towards the window and opened the chipped sill.
"Jamie? What the fuck are you doing?" Ron came in through the doorway, plastered himself. He was bundled up in a blue checkered robe with a cigarette smoking between his fingers.
She looked back at him and turned a deaf ear. Through the unlatched window, frosty air flurried in and bit at her face. She could feel her lips and her toes turning blue. But she liked the feeling; the uncharted sensation of frigid air swallowing her bare bones. She felt almost comforted; the ice air swaddled her completely.
She could hear her name being spoken repeatedly in choppy fragments as she climbed up onto the windowsill. She felt like an animal, crouched and ready to pounce, with the arctic winds of January calling at her. She looked down at the city, which ran busy forty-two stories below her. Lights and sounds raced in a frenzy, and miniature figures bustled down as after-Christmas mechanisms.
She was a bird. She was a plane.
She was sure she could fly. Everything in her bones told her so; wings began to sprout forth from her spine, and thawed flesh broke at the eruption of feathers. She looked hard out at the city with steel blue eyes being marauded by vicious snowflakes.
"I can fly, I can fly, I can fly," she chanted to the beat of the whirling winds.
Ron was behind her now, grabbing at her skeletal ribs. She felt his balmy paws swipe at her body.
"He's giving me the impetus to fly," she thought. She smiled at her neglectful boyfriend and said, "I'm just going out for a while."
And with that, she jumped out, hyper-extending her legs, leaping like a frog. She waved her spindly arms out in front of her, as to swim. She felt the draft in her hair, through her body. Contented, she was finally free. Free at last.
And as she fell, plummeting downward, she was happier than she'd ever been before. Complete liberation devoured her spirit as she became weightless for the first time in her life. She was an angel, descending in unshackled bliss.
People walking the lonely streets halted in astonishment when Jamie reached the climax of her young life down on the pavement. But that didn't matter to Jamie- she was flying, happy, forevermore, free from the heavy manacles that had weighed her down for so long.