“I am not a toy to be used.”

They all looked at her, one and all, as her words resonated through the night air. She stood atop a skyscrapers, teetering on the ledge, and yet she looked as if she’d never been more confident or sure of herself her whole life. She was meant to be there- anything that happened from then on was entirely intentional. She would control the world for the next few minutes- they’d all listen to what she had to say. Speakers carried her voice for miles around- and yet it was so delicate, so precise, so incisive and so personal that it felt like she was whispering to each of them.

“I am not just a shoulder to cry on, or a shield to hide behind, or a sounding board for ideas and advice, or the walking, talking guide to be turned to when you have a problem to solve or question to answer.”

Everyone stood frozen to the ground as she spoke. Every single one of them was a person she knew, intimately or even casually, by design. Her loved ones and acquaintances, everyone who had any bearing on her life watched her. She cared not that most of them truly loved her, nor that the impact their actions had had on her were mostly the doing of her own thoughts and her wretched, insecure, overthinking mind. She was tired of the rational fighting her emotions. She cared not that she was being unreasonable, nor that she was hurting everyone present. For once she’d be selfish, self-cantered, and entirely irrational and emotional.

“I am tired of being the person turned to when there’s no one else around, or the person who’s constantly blamed for every single goddamn disagreement, or the one who hears everyone say she means something to them, but has nothing to show for it. I am tired of loving and seeing the bare minimum of reciprocation in return, tired of hearing people promise they’ll change but turn around and continue on the same way they always have, tired of making excuses for those who’ve wronged me.”

Most of these comments were personal, only apt for a few people. She cared not that most people here would be perplexed. She needed to get all this out. She was nearly done.

“And I’m done hating, blaming, killing myself. I’m done wondering what I could have done better. I’m done wishing that people would love me the same way I love them. I’m done with people ripping out my heart, and patching it with a few paltry platitudes and meaningless reassurances and compliments. I’m done with morality, conscience, emotions and people. I’m done. You will feel true remorse now that I’m done. And there’s only one way I can truly be done.”

And she gracefully stepped off the ledge, hands stretched outward akin to the soaring of an eagle. And they all watched, awestruck and mesmerised, that broken angel whose words, nay, force and will and sheer beauty, they’d been enraptured by. She’d never felt beautiful, not truly- and yet in that moment, she was the most magnificent being alive. Her fall lasted an eternity, and her captivated audience watched with bated breath- they would never forget what had just transpired. She’d made her mark, and she would be mourned, but she’d be liberated at last.

Her body never hit the ground- perhaps lifted straight up to the heavens so she’d face pain no more.

‘O ye beauteous deity from the skies

Your joy and grace hold all captive.

Your precious smile and crystal eyes

Soul so benevolent, so lively, so active.

Your tears, so cold, they sicken my heart

I shall bathe in them, drown your sorrow.

In your redemption, I shall play my part

You will be once again venerated on the golden morrow.’