How beautiful this city looked in the moonlight. Why would they want to stay cooped up in that smoky, yellow room when there was this just waiting outside? Silver-tipped skyscrapers loomed up at her from every side; And beyond them, the glistening, moving surface of the lake. The trees stopped far below; black clumps of delicate lace. The only road visible from here weaved around the buildings like an unobtrusive, sombre grey snake. It must be full-moon, tonight, she thought to herself. People go crazy on full-moons, don’t they? She laughed softly. She was up on the twenty-third floor; just a tight grip of the iron-grate was all it would take for her to swing over to the other side. And then, then to just let go. Those fingers, those greedy fingers that had been so eager for the city lights. She held them up, wide apart. Small and fragile, she used to think them. Sifting the moonlight so gracefully, like this is what they had been born to do. For how long would such delicate fingers hold up against the sheer weight of her body? She raised her head and breathed in the suddenly still air. “If I ever kill myself, it’ll be when I realize that there is no getting better than this. The Storytelling of a Night Party by Nonita.
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