Bridge... They told her Girl Scouts would be good for her future; that was why she was here at the end of her fifth grade year, standing on this massive red-orange bridge, staring down at the rocks that marked the beginning of the bay. She hated it really, why couldn't They see that she didn't want a future. The bay was foggy, grey, and damp; a harsh salty breeze tugged at her long hair as she stepped up to the railing to look over the edge at the wave thrashed rocks that lay far, far below. It would be so easy to hoist herself up, and so she did, laying her stomach over the edge. As the wind swept at her she thought of the ease with which she could simply fall. She closed her deep, storm-tossed green-grey eyes and pictured the blur of letting herself go, the freeze frame of the sky above, the release as she hit the rocks, the jolt… But wait…the jolt was real.