HeightsA Story by E YorkI wrote this and then my friend jumped off a bridge. Read and review; I'll do the same for you.HEIGHTS The impact kills you. The impact breaks open your body, and you explode all over the ground. Your innards make art on the concrete or in the snow, wherever you land. Your legs snap, and your arms crack. Your head gains a halo of red that coats your hair and spreads around you. So if the impact kills you, what is the fall like? When you jump off a building, do you feel like you have wings until the moment you die? Are you afraid as you come closer and closer to embracing the Earth? Do you feel anything when you splatter, or is the pain, the ultimate agony of death, too much for your body to handle? I dreamed of leaping from a building once, and as I fell, my heart constricted until I could not breathe, and my body tightened until I could not unclench my muscles. But that was only a dream, not reality; it did not answer my questions to what it would actually be like to kill myself. When you die so violently, does your soul break too? Along with your many bones, is it too hard to piece your soul back together? Sometimes I wonder if the people who leap from buildings and mountains feel like they’ve just ascended to Heaven and now want to experience Hell. Maybe they feel like they’ve only been in Hell and deserve a bit of Heaven. I wonder where those people go, with their hearts and minds already in fragments. Surely God would not send the depressed to Hell. That seems like the deepest cruelty, the harshest punishment. After all, they have only known Hell in their life on Earth, so perhaps a taste of Heaven could heal them. But I am not God, not even close. If I were God, I would not imagine myself hurdling from a building to escape life. God lives forever. Sometimes I wonder if I want to live at all. Staring down at a dead body, twisted and contorted, silent and still, I wonder what would happen if that were me. Would I have a ghost to cry over my remains, or would my soul move straight into the afterlife? Afterlife: I don’t even like the sound of that word. Isn’t life the very thing I think so hard of escaping? I pause and see myself broken apart, blood running over my skin as if my veins were on my outside instead of within. I stop and picture myself with my innards littering the street. Could a policeperson write my loved ones a ticket because I had not cleaned up after my death? Then I move on, living life as though death could never catch me. But I think on death, I think on it’s meaning and sometimes wish for it, but only because it would make things uncomplicated; it would take all my problems away and leave me in reflective nothingness. And then I destroy that thought, knowing I would never actually kill myself, right? Isn’t it just a thought? It’s just a thought…I think.
© 2008 E YorkAuthor's Note
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Added on April 12, 2008Last Updated on April 15, 2008 AuthorE YorkAboutI am 18 years old and about to graduate with a senior 4.0 from high school. I'm looking forward to graduation and the college years to come. I plan on receiving my Master's Degree in Nursing and my P... more..Writing
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