Am I Here?

Tipu

The wind roars. The night is pitch-black. The rails wet. Ideal.
I thought it would be harder. Perhaps it is only as hard as one deems it to be.
It approaches. I am terrified, but it needs to be done.
I let out everything that is human, as a last resort. As a lullaby.
The brakes are screeching. The last second looped.
…