9.8.
She hated that number. It embodied her. By the Law of Symmetry, 9.8 was not 10. It could never be 10. It was short of perfect. Just like her.
She reflected on her chemistry quiz. 9.8 .... out of a whopping 20. She felt like an utter failure. She thought of Rodya in the book they had been reading in Literature class. Crime and Punishment it was called. She loved it too.
But it wasn't enough. Mere love wasn't enough.
She had to live.
She was walking by the cliff when it happened. She did not know why she had done it. She only knew it was there, and she was reaching towards it, because it was free and she wasn't and anything that was free had to be hers and and and
She ran out of reasons, except one.
9.8 miles per second squared.
Maybe 9.8 was a good number.