We called her Chillie. I don’t know why – we just always had. When she handed me the bottle I looked in her eyes.
I shouldn’t have.
She scared me. She was Mount St. Helens, she was Eyjafjallajokull.
She was volcanic, ready to blow.
“How high are we?” I asked.
“I’m pretty high,” she said, then took the bottle back and drank.
I tried to remember the elevator ride. I thought we got off on 17 and then ran up two flights after that. I did the math and followed her over to the edge. I loved her.
“I can hit the pool from here.” She announced.
Taking three steps back, she ran to the edge and hurled herself out, flying silently downward.
She didn’t make the pool, nor did the tequila she clutched in her fist all the way down.
I heard her hit from the roof. I heard the oomph as the breath she had held was forced out. I heard the bottle shatter.
Then I heard only silence.
No one noticed.
Not sure why I went this way with these prompts but it got real cold, real fast.
It’s OK though. Just a story. You can smile now!
tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice 