Long Walk Off a Short Ledge

I flung the window open, letting in a cool breeze. The sky was purple and the thick umami air draped around everything in my room. A warm breeze dragged its palm along the hem of my skirt before lifting it up and dragging its fingers up my thighs. I bit my lip and stepped out on the ledge. The silhouettes of the city were snoring and sleepy cars flitted along the winding highway. Horns were honking. Neighbors were moaning. The cat that lives in the shadows around my apartment mewed painfully, hoping for stupid humans to feed her. I'd almost miss being a stupid human. I stepped out. The rush of the heavy air gagged my nose and mouth. I could't scream. I wasn't going to anyway. I wanted to leave with no trace. No notes. No tears. No goodbyes. Just a long-forgotten stain on the pavement that the warm rain can never quite get rid off.