All about life

She stood in front of the window looking out at the other brick buildings surrounding the neighborhood. Old and dirty, still they had a beauty all their own. Here came the unwanted, refuges, and poor. Many came from Europe after the war, and some came from the south and some came to escape to a place where no one cared who or what they were.

The two little children clung to her dress, dirty and sad, crying as they always were. Carole was trying to think about how to feed them and how to pay the rent. Mark had left the week before and she had not heard from him since. They were there in that part of Brooklyn called Williamsburg where everyone was able to live if they could deal with the poverty, dirt, gangs, and total despair.

The old ladies sat on the stoops and talked in their native language, mostly Yiddish or Italian, an occasional Russian. The old men listened to radios blaring the baseball games and off to the side the young men pretended to be tough and rich. Sleeves rolled up over packs of cheap cigarettes, watching each young girl as she passed and whistling or leering.

As Carole stood in front of the open window, she knew what she had to do. She pulled the children's hands away and pushed them into the room.

She made a hard flat sound as she landed, not two feet from the old ladies and they sat in shock as they watched the blood start to pool around her body. For a few minutes, no one moved or spoke and then the screams began as the sight sunk in.

Now she would never again have to think about where to get anything. It was her last resort.