Everything is too easy.
"You've got great scores again!"
"She's so athletic, smart, disciplined—and prettier every year!"
That's what they always said. Friends. Family. Neighbors. Strangers.
Everything just falls into place for me.
Even breakups are easy. "I know, it's all my fault. Thank you for your time and love."
They'd apologize even when I was the one who betrayed them. Maybe they'll realize in a couple of years that they have been used.
So, so easy.
Jobs wanted me before I even wanted them. Promotions came faster than I could pretend to care. It turns out that charm and the right timing are worth more than talent or effort.
Half the work. All the reward.
"Is there anything you actually find difficult?" they would ask.
I'd smile sweetly, tilt my head just so. "Don't say that. I'm just lucky to have good people around me!" I lied.
The reality is simple: if you come from a good family, have money, have looks, and attain a prestigious education... You win.
I can seem humble and down-to-earth easily.
Truly, everything came my way.
If I'd been born a man, maybe I'd have been greedier—more powerful, sure—but also more reckless. Men always overreach. I prefer subtlety.
Of course, with great power comes great enemies.
And as I plummet from the fiftieth floor of my condo, that old proverb feels suddenly... practical.
Faces flash by. Screams distort. Glass walls blur into streaks of light.
Not everyone liked me. I've heard every diagnosis in the book: narcissist, sociopath, psychopath. What-ever-path it was, I only wanted a path that would take me higher.
Oh, it seems my life is flashing before my eyes.
Maybe they're right. Maybe half-right.
But it's insulting, really—being labeled by people so obviously beneath me.
"Just a bit more, and you'd be a cult leader," someone once joked in college. They said my words were poison that people drank willingly.
A cult, huh?
Too gauche. Too desperate.
The kind of thing that makes idiots worship, and smarter people roll their eyes on talk shows.
I'd never want to be seen as inferior.
Ah. Well. That's not my problem anymore, is it?
The wind howls. My body hits the pavement.
Maybe I'm nothing but blood and bone and two useless eye balls now.
I don't even care who pushed me.
But I am furious that someone lesser might think they've won.
It seems dying... Is quite easy.