Height of it

The rusted ladder screeched under her weight as she made her ascent. Step by step with an even keel. The peeling paint scraping on skin and staining her palms. The street was silent all around her. A few lights coming on in the distance but most people still blissfully asleep and as of yet unaware of the day. Seventeen steps she recognised without looking. The rooftop wasn’t much. Black tar and bad patch jobs. A water tower and an up-turned bucket for sitting. She didn’t come here for the décor. She came for the view. A different outlook on the world. It was quieter up here out of the street. A vast expanse of buildings and rises that stretched in every direction for miles. It was cathartic. It solidified her place in the world. The sun was coming up and would soon burn the morning dew off the surface of everything. It couldn’t remove her demons as easily. It could only illuminate all the cracks and crevices where all the dark is hidden. All the hidden parts that no one sees could be exposed in this light. Here on top of a deli and a few apartments where people did mundane daily things in an unremarkable fashion she came to feel exposed. The heat on her skin at the dawning of a new day. That monstrous power and energy outlining her very being. Cradling her and bathing her in something new, something that wasn’t there before.


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