Broken Glass v2

It is deep, black night, and I lie alone in bed, listening to the cars rush by outside. A horn honks loudly, a fanfare of aggravation, while the roar of a motorcycle pushes on ahead. Car doors crash as drums, and street cars whir. With each passing heartbeat the snakes wriggling up my temples go thump . . . thump . . . thump. I walk across the room, unsure what I am doing, following only the barest gut instinct. Slowly, surely, I lift the heavy windowsill and step outside. I can feel freezing glass beneath my bare feet, cold and smooth. It is like walking on the surface of still water. Below me rushes car after car, twin headlight ribbons of red and white flowing down the street, the street lights surrounding spotlights. As I look back, I can see moisture from my feet leaving frosted marks on what once was clean and smooth. This is how I live my life, separated from the world by a fragile piece of glass. Sometimes others look in and wave, smearing the wall with their grubby faces, and for a moment I know the fleeting illusion that is happiness. And then the glass breaks, and I am falling.