Black and Pink

She was a woman like no other. Completely out of her mind. She always chose the riskier path. Always. And she revelled in it! It was glorious for her. I haven't met another person like her, who took joy in failing because, "It was just an experiment, after all." A lunatic, I tell you.

But around me, she was totally opposite. Like flipping a coin. Fussy to the point of frustration(fussy is always frustrating, I know). She always looked at me with a suspicious eye, wondering whether I'd been up to any mischief. And as always, I'd disappoint her. But that didn't deter her, oh no! She would be unhappy with me because I wouldn't do anything wrong so that she could fly in as a messiah and set things right. I'd stopped messing things up a long time ago, and she hated me for it. I think she hasn't forgiven me for that even now.

The Fall

I stared down the blackness, my feelings a mixture of queasiness and exultation. The void seemed almost impenetrable, as if it were a veil, a barrier instead of empty space. The breeze blew past ever so slightly, brushing my cheeks like the tender hands of a lover... a lover.
The moon was at its full, shining benignly down at the scene, casting shadows wherever the trees behind me cut through its light. The faint smell of wet mud hung in the air, stirring up memories of childhood. Everything looked beautiful, breathtaking, as if in mockery of my plight. An excellent place to die.