By Jessica Jordan
The cold autumn air blew through me as I peered out of the open window. Ghostly curtains waved in my direction, beckoning me with their peer pressure. I stepped forward. Halted. Blood ran cold through my veins. Raindrops trickled onto the wooden windowpane, gathering together, a puddle of tears from the sky. One by one they dribbled, a slow rhythm of nature. I focused on the droplets, a distraction. I moved forward, closer to the edge, one foot on the small chair below the window, kicking the dusty old bear off his wooden throne. Both feet on now, hands grasped the ledge, wet from tears. I straightened, knees trembling, hands shaking. Clouds concealed the small sun in the dull sky, above the field of dead yarrows and broken dreams. The window was open and all I had to do was jump.
Jess Jordan lives in St. Marys, Pennsylvania. She is currently a senior interdisciplinary arts major focusing on writing and digital art. She enjoys taking a variety of writing and art courses to expand her knowledge and try out new things. Her poetry and art has appeared in previous editions of Baily’s Beads, and she has served as design director for the magazine’s last two issues. Destruction, Photograph, Prison, A Series of Haiku, Shattered