Jump, Bitch, jump was the last thing I heard. As if I needed further proof I’d made the right decision to go up there. This is a no good world and no one really cares about you but your mother and in my case that’s not even true (but don’t get me started on how that tramp fucked up my life).
Jump, Bitch, jump. They sounded beyond impatient–there was indignation to their chant. Sure, traffic was snared for miles but their snotty tone confirmed my verdict on humanity (or the lack there of), people are shits. It’s all about them, them, them. What about me, me, me?
Jump, Bitch, jump, so I did. I felt the freedom of flight, a lovely sail through the air, then the big drop–swift and sure. I really thought that splat would do it, but I lived. Broken, hospitalized, and in intensive care, I was alive. You should have seen the avalanche of flowers, stuffed animals, hard candy, and the cards and letters that read: Get well, Bitch, get well.