Looking down from the top of the building, I no longer felt the pang of apprehension about heights. Maybe the fear of heights is more of a mental stigma in my mind telling me not to find the edge of the world and look over the horizon of this miserable concrete wasteland. Perhaps climbing the utility ladder through the trap door on the 39th floor to reach the summit on this building is me telling my mind “I’ve had enough of you. Stop telling me what I can and can’t do. I’m old enough to know better and young enough to still enjoy the adrenaline rush from the vacuum of wind changing direction around the various buildings here on the waterfront.” Walking around the top of the building, my mind turns on me again, becoming vicious in return for betraying her trust.
(I wrote this awhile ago. I was cleaning up my hard drive and found this, thought it was good for something I don’t remember writing….)
However entangled my senses became during the internal argument, a single thought crossed my mind and silenced all others in an instant:
I peered down my nose to the glass ceiling below, looking through the top of the small coffee shop across from the first bank of elevators I walked towards every morning for the past fifteen years.
The black braces, fading with weather, dirty aluminum peering past the years of grime and snow stared back at me, begging me not to do whatever it was I planned. They had a single job; they held the glass in place and for the most part, did the job well.
I pictured myself falling down towards the glass ceiling, the black and aluminum frame tightening together, waiting for the impact of my body as I crush into the roof with all 250 pounds of force splintering glass down onto shocked faces and into steaming coffee cups below.
Perhaps the aluminum bracing would cut my careening body as I fell, sending gory chunks of flesh raining through the heavens. The screams of horror magnified by the blood bath from above while security attempts to quarantine the area.
With my luck, I fall from the roof, the wind blows backwards, knocking me against the concrete exaust tower and slowing my decent to rest next to the other dead animals who ventured too close to the white creator of smoke. My spine bruised and twisted, laying among friends who also fared well in life, staring towards the stars as our last enemy belched new clouds to fill the skies above us.
I take one more look around at the sprawling city around and back down at the glass ceiling.
Is it worth it?