It’s not my fault. Really it isn’t.
Shut up, you say, stop trying to justify yourself. Alright then, I’ll stop. I suppose it’s best if I do what you say. It’s a beautiful night tonight, don’t you think, this dark blue evening rushing past outside the car windows in its blur of star-lit softness. I just love autumn, really I do, those lemony leaves hovering suspended from their branches, luminous against the sky, almost religious, like candles, and the red and brown and orange ones lying crumpled on the wet grass like sparks spat out from a fire, fallen angels, a whole carpet of fiery fallen angels-
Yes, I know you told me to shut up. I don’t have much time left, you say? Oh, but I do. I’ve got all the time in the world.
I know that look. You don’t believe me. Well, if I don’t have much time left, you could at least look at me. According to you I’m dying, I think that merits a brief glance.
Yes, yes, I know, we’re all dying, we start dying from the moment we’re born, etc, etc. Now look at me. Turn your head and look at me! You won’t? Well then, I’ll speak, and you’ll have no choice but to listen, even if you can’t bring yourself to look. I can explain, you know, part of it. I’m sure you’ll want to hear, and even if you don’t, I need to tell you. I’m going to start at the beginning, and not leave anything out, and maybe when I’m done you might be able to hate me a little less.
You keep telling me I don’t have much time left. I don’t care.
That night- see, I’m starting from the beginning- that night I was dressed all in white.
I used it as a disguise? Oh, it wasn’t a disguise. White may be the color of purity, but you forget that it’s also the color of death. In India they wear white as a sign of mourning. White: death and sacrifice, weddings and bone. Slow down.
Didn’t you hear me? Enough. This game of yours has gone too far. We’re only 30 meters away now, 20, and you know better than anyone how scared I am of heights. It’s not a game? Yes, it is. I know it is. Stop. I said stop. Stop! 
Thank you. But you were never really going to go through with it though, were you? Were you?
What was that? 15 minutes? Well. The sea is rough tonight. Open the window, and let me smell the waves. No? I won’t scream. You’re made from stone, you know. No, that’s not true, you’re made of glass, and glass is made from fire. I’d like to reiterate, it wasn’t my fault. In the desert, you forget your own name. You forget other things as well, like time, and the color green. Right and wrong is such a complex concept, and so changeable, that trying to remember the finer details is like trying to hold water in your hands.
Sorry, sorry! I’ll stop. What’s that smell, you ask? It’s my perfume. The bottle broke when you slammed on the brakes. Feeling nostalgic? Nostalgic enough to reverse the car? Apparently not, I see. As I was saying, that night I was dressed all in white…