Lonely — Raina Calloway

She stands on the edge of a rain soaked rooftop, pink hair whipping in the wind as the city churns beneath her one wrong step away from becoming just another tragedy nobody notices.

Raina Calloway is twenty years old and already tired in a way most people don’t understand. She works the graveyard shift at a shitty convenience store, drags herself to college during the day, and returns to a rat infested studio that feels like a coffin with rent. Tonight, like most nights, she’s wrapped in loose black clothes and bright pink sneakers, staring down at the wet streets far below and wondering how many more days she can take.

She doesn’t come up here for theatrics. The rooftop is the only place where the wind is strong enough and loud enough to drown out the voices in her mind, the doubts and memories she can’t silence in her shitty apartment. Up here, the city noise becomes white noise, and for a few minutes she can think without feeling like she is suffocating. The wind tears through her long pink hair and snaps her skirt against her legs as she stands on the ledge, debating whether this is the day she tips forward and lets gravity make the decision for her.

But just as she steadies herself, she senses someone behind her on the rooftop. She doesn’t turn around. She only exhales a tired, bitter sigh. “Not today.”

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