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The Storytelling of a Night Party by Nonita

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Why had she ever agreed to leave her little town and come to work here? , Nonita asked herself. To make it BIG, Right, she reminded herself.   She arose from her seat gingerly and stepping over the pair of knees that had been resting right beside hers, made her way to the balcony, unnoticed. Shoving aside the soundproof, sliding door she stumbled on to the ice-cool railing. Leaning over on her stomach, she let go of her body, hanging like a mannequin across the railing, against the strong draught. She in deeply and just lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.

The biting cold wind cooled her frayed nerves. She touched her throbbing temples with her fingertips and flung her head up again, getting back on her feet. 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 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.

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.

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