what goes?

what goes up must come down.

The wind whipped around my hair, twisting and turning around my neck, it felt like vines that were consuming me. I looked down and saw the beautiful lights that were soon going to be very very near. As I took the step the wind held me down and gently placed me upon the San Francisco bridge. This was my favorite part.  Red, blue, black? What color shall it be that released me this time? White, it looks to be as if the car was white, of course that's all I can tell from it going 65 at this early time of night. Crunch, how fun. Will the driver stop? did I hit his bumper, did my head roll underneath his back tire and make a chilling crushing sound? It simply wasn't enough to make them see me splat against the concrete, they needed to see my parts scatter, they needed to feel a death on their hands.