A hand on a throat, where if all fingers touch, the throat turns to ash. The villain of an anime I now watch clutches the hero with his middle-finger aired before the vital moment. I jump on holiday off a cliff and my chest stumbles with simulations. My body angled poorly as I could slap headfirst. I was warned that my feet should sink first if I merely fall. If I dive, my fingers should first touch the water. I am depressed the months before. College student, America. So far off, so cold from the landlock of my birth. And the summer study-abroad, double-abroad. In Italy I was watching the Creation show itself on old ceilings in marble-rooms, looking for some culture that might have been ours if not for the pillagings that brought gold and bodies to shape that gold into buildings like this. So I jump and fall. And shiver emptily. It is the same feeling as the nights on the bed thinking of futures without this self. Thinking as if I did not exist. Ignored emails from therapists. And here this feeling!: it made me want to live. So I jump again on the higher ledge. My friend afterwards asks if I'm okay. I'm shaking slightly. I'm without words. I laugh with the same absence as any birth. A baby's confused cry without tears. A long way down. What blue-green water, as if dug for in the earth and sold for courtyard dances. It glimmers all over my body, frizzes up my hair as my ****** curls soak it, squeezes it down my face, down towards my neck like fingers. The villain walks away. The next time the hero sees him he should be careful. He will have decided to **** me by then.