She rattles the chain-link fence that prevents her from jumping off the bridge onto the highway below. Where is the opening? Last night in darkness she clipped an opening in the fence. From her pulsing hand, the fence rocked back and forth until a vertical line in the fence broke free. Her passage of death.
A month ago, she had turned eighteen, no more will she be “daddy’s perfect angel”. At 5:36 am, the time of her birth, she died her blond hair lime green. “Why did you do that, my angel?” her dad said.
The next day, tattoos, she scattered her skin with small black figurines. “Why did you do that, my angel?” her dad said.
Now a month later, she bought the most expensive black leather jacket her sandwich job could afford. At the cashier, she heard in her head, “Why did you do that, my angel?”
Marching out of the store she yelled, “FUCK OFF. I'm my own woman!”
Eighteen hours later, she’s crawling through the fence onto the ledge.
Below, semis and cars motor by. Out of a backpack, she strings out a chain, 10 feet long. With a carabiner clip she latches one end onto the fence.
Next from the backpack, Dolly, a white furred teddy bear — her first gift from her father. She rolls Dolly’s ear between her fingers, the fur worn away from 12 years of comforting.
Picking up the chain, she wraps it around Dolly’s neck and ties it into a knot.
Tears thicken in her eyes until they slide through her mascara.
“Goodbye Dolly.” Dolly flies through the air, falling towards the highway, until WHIP! The chain tightens. Dolly, the little angel, strangles.