She looked sullenly at the glowing embers of her cigarette. Sitting in the dark she knew there was a matching circle cooling on her arm-even if she couldn't feel the burn. Katie took her free hand and ran her index finger along the grooves and bumps on her arm. Scars and scabs and open cuts marked her journey to this moment. One spot felt sticky and she knew the wound was still open.

It didn't hurt. That should have been a comfort, but it wasn't. She craved the pain these days. She wanted it-needed it. She knew that if she hurt, she was still alive and not just floating in the gelatinous mold that had come to define her life, her feelings. It was almost as if she was stuck in jello-every movement shook her like and earthquake-every vibration seeming insurmountable-unconquerable. But no matter how hard she swam, and kicked, and clawed she couldn't escape her jello walls.

She felt the heat of her cigarette inching closer to her lips, the scent of menthol tickling her nose. She plucked it from her lips and touched it once more to her already scarred skin and held it against her arm until she felt its heat die, and the red embers slowly fade away.

She listened to the ocean through the slightly open car window. She didn't light another cigarette-she needed time to adjust to what had just happened. Burning. That was new. She'd never done that before-afraid of the possible outcomes. She had heard that burn marks always looked new. She'd even heard that no matter how callused you've become, it still hurts.

But it hadn't hurt. That's what she was adjusting to. It was supposed to hurt. That's why she'd done it. Last try, last chance to feel real to show proof of life.

"So what's the point now anyway?" she wondered aloud. Her voice echoed in the silence of her car. Opening the door she stepped out and lit another Marlboro. She again watched the red embers flicker at its tip. She watched as she inhaled-the red glowing brighter, and then falling away to become part of the sand as she advanced to the water's edge.

As the cold water tickled her sandal-clad feet she took another drag, then put the cigarette out in the wet sand. She stared out at the sea with her hands shoved into her pockets for warmth. Aside from the crashing waves, the beach was silent, and still. By one AM all the revelers and weekend alcoholics had gone home to sleep off their coming hangovers and regrets. She wished it was that easy-to sleep off one's remorse and classify one's pain as the experience of growing up, or better yet, as mere drunkenness. But if it was that easy, she wouldn't have seven years worth of cuts, or two years time in a psych ward, or three failed psychiatrists behind her. If it was that easy, she wouldn't be here, like this, tonight.

Katie shivered as she noted that her jeans were wet, almost to her knees. She stepped back and began to trudge up the shore to the pier. She kicked off her sandals and held them in her hand as she climbed the steps to the long wooden pier. She lit a third cigarette as she walked past the benches where the fishermen sat during the day, past the trash cans full of candy and half-eaten cotton candy. She walks past the remnants of streamers and confetti, from a birthday party that took place at sunset. She walks to the edge of the pier, and as her cigarette burns down, she climbs the wooden rail and perches with her feet dangling precariously over the deep water. She flicks her ashes into the ocean and braces herself with one hand gripping the edge of the railing. She was cold and tired but she didn't care. It was so beautiful. Dark and ominous, but comforting. Black as far as the eye could see, the moon obscured by gray clouds, the only color showing at the tips of yet unbroken waves, as the oceans natural phosphorescence glowed in scattered tips of white. She inhaled deeply, holding her breath as long as she could before she exhaled a stream of gray-white smoke, wisps of mentholated fog drifting toward the hidden moon.

The red embers died once more and she pitched the short white stub into the sea, then leaned back, holding the rail with both hands, dangling her legs over the chilly waters. She was cold, without a jacket, although she suspected that she would be cold even if she'd worn one. She was always cold inside. Like this water. The Pacific Ocean was like that. Surprisingly cold. Maybe that's why she liked it. Maybe that's why she had come here. Still holding the railing, she leaned forward and looked down into the rippling surface. All she could see was depth. Black and black and black, no end in sight.

How deep is it, she wondered. Deep enough she supposed what it lacked in depth, it would make up in cold. A person her size wouldn't last long without much fat to heat her body, the cold water would do her in if she didn't drown first. All she had to do was let go.

Instead she climbed back over the rail and lit another cigarette. Before taking a puff, she pushed the lit end into the back of her hand, punishment for her cowardice. Satisfied with the blackish red mark that appeared she lifted it to her lips and began to smoke the cigarette, slowly, breathing in the smoke as much as the cigarette itself. She closed her eyes and felt the slight ocean breeze play with the ends of her hair, lifting them slowly off her shoulders, and back away from her face. Her ears were cold. With her eyes lightly shut she continued to smoke her cigarette relying on its approaching warmth to indicate when it needed to be thrown away. She leaned heavily on the rail in front of her, trying to muster her courage. Opening her eyes she looked down again. Her cigarette had cooled, since she had tapped the last of the red embers into the sea with her last flick. She threw the remainder into the water and limbed once more onto the railing. This time standing solidly, feet planted firmly on the thin railing. She was surprised at her strength. She wasn't poised to jump, or to fall, or to climb back down. She just stood arms at her sides, hands in her pockets. She turned and walked slowly down to one end of the rail, thankful at last for her gymnastic training, then turned and walked to the other end. Reaching the corner she turned back and stopped when she reached the center of the rail once more. She lifted her hands to form a sort of human crucifix and stood, waiting.

Just waiting.