I live in heaven. Not the one that you have to enter through Saint Peter’s Gate, but the one on Earth. Where I live by my own rules and do what ever makes me happy. I dress the way I want to, I dance the way I want to, I talk the way I want to. It’s here that I am different from everyone else and other’s perceptions of me now, don’t make a difference to me like they did when I was sixteen.

How did I get here? Well it all started when I was standing on a cliff.



The wild wind flung my hair around my head. Blonde tendrils curled like Medusa’s snakes, and my icy blue eyes could have turned anything to stone.

The skirt of my school uniform clung to my legs, the wind whistled and whispered barely audible secrets. I shivered, not because I was cold, but because I had just realized that I was not living my life they way I really wanted to.

I looked like every other girl in my sophomore class. I was studious like every other girl, I was nice, I was mature. I was into the same kind of music, books, and sports as everyone else. We were all clones of each other, and everyone accepted it.

Everyone that is, except me. At that moment there was one thing that made me different. They were standing safely on the flat ground, while I was standing at the edge of a cliff.

The gnarled hands of society desperately tried to pull me away from the precipice. They called, and cried, and demanded.

My back was to the rioting crowd. But their savage calls still reached my ringing ears.

Without turning, I took a step away from the edge. If only they would stop talking, then I could organize the whirling thoughts running through my head.

Their calls continued. I willed myself to block out the din.

I had two choices. I could turn around and be lovingly embraced by society. The whole incident would be forgotten and life would go back to normal. Or, I could jump and become the scandal of society. I would never be forgiven and never welcomed back.

My eyes darted back and forth. Memories swarmed and buzzed inside my head.

There were good memories. The time my friends and I had a huge slumber party. We stayed up all night talking about how we wish we could be different, but how we would never do anything to change, because then we wouldn’t be cool. The time our study group got together. We talked for a little bit, but then we hit the books. We all aced that test. Both those times, and many more, I had been happy. I had laughed and joked, but I always had a hollow feeling inside.

Then there were the other memories. The ones that would make my parents kill me if they found out about them. The night I snuck out and went clubbing. I danced all night, and gave my heart away. The time, in Paris, when we all met in one room, both boys and girls I might add, and had a huge sleep over. We stayed up all night scared that we would get caught, but reveling in the thrill of breaking the rules. Those times I was truly happy, but the rest of the world does not like it when the norm is broken.

If I jumped, I could live life the way I wanted. But it would go against the grain, I would be ridiculed.

Which is better: to be loved and accepted, or to be shunned? Of course acceptance is what we all strive for; no one wants to be ostracized.

The encouraging wind blew hard from behind me. I took a step forward, and once again my toes hung over the edge of the cliff. The screeches of society pierced the air. I looked down into the abyss.

Below me lay the desires of my heart. But were they worth the fall it would take to reach them?

I turned around.

The crowd erupted into applause. They gestured for me to come back into the group.

What had I been thinking?

I smiled, I laughed, I bent my knees.

I wanted to see their faces as I jumped.