She was flying. Frozen screams languished, but she only heard freedom. The concern of death was inconsequential.

The boy had jumped too, he was going to die, but it was his fault for not understanding her longing for flight, the yearning for wind in her ears. They didn’t understand, she was free now.

Then death swallowed her, life and death spun together into a collage that always ended in darkness. She always knew death would follow, but she didn’t care: she had flown

Her caretakers in the institution would miss her, well grieve her at least, given her constant babble of flight. The boy had been her brother: soft spoken, protective, but he didn’t try to climb out windows like her and jump into the city streets to visit with the voices that encouraged her to jump. The specialists kept saying words like suicide, but she just wanted to fly.