She's standing, the wind whipping her hair around her face, the bridge swaying beneath her, cars rushing by behind her, reminding her that no one will even notice.
She's standing.
Eight inches from the open air.
Eight inches from letting go.
Eight inches from too late.
Eight inches from the point of no return.

Eight inches from forever.

Seven inches.
I wonder if I'll feel the pain for a long time.
Five inches.
Do I really want to go through with this?
Three inches.
Yes.  No going back now.
Two inches.
Will anyone even miss me?

One inch.
One inch, and then she'll be free.
How did it come to this?

Half an inch.
She's standing, half an inch from forever, and she knows that this will be easy.
She's standing.

And then she's gone.