The wind whipped Zo Rosenberg’s blonde hair around like a tornado. The temperature on top of the Empire State Building in New York was icy cold. It made the skin on Zo’s arms stand up and sent chills running up his spine. He was terrified of heights. However, the view was amazing. 
     From the highest point in New York City, he could see everything. Especially as he neared the railing. The closer he got to the edge, the better the view. The Chrysler Building loomed nearby. Fifth Avenue was spread out before him like a stick of butter. Crowds of people poured into the renowned Broadway Theater, and millions gathered for a look at the Times Square Jumbotron. 
     Zo was a native New Yorker. He was born and bred there, and loved it. He often took the elevator up to the highest deck of the Empire State Building after school to enjoy the breathtaking view. It allowed him to think, and recollect, and remember…
     Thump! A sandy-haired kid bumped into after standing too far back for a photo. He was freckled from head to toe and reeked of B.O. The kid apologized, but when he turned around to see who it was he pushed, the victim was gone. 
     Zo was jolted forward. A little too forward, perhaps. The railing barely reached to his chest. It was not enough to stop the forward momentum of the push, and he hurled over the side. He dropped down, down, down. 
     All that enamated from his mouth were screams of terror. His worst nightmare had come true. His brain was too shocked to think, his body too shocked to act. His skin blistered with the cold. His stomach lurched forward like a drop on a roller coaster, except this was no roller coaster. Zo was plummeting to his death, with nothing to stop it. He was a mouse stuck in a mousetrap, with a hungry cat licking his lips, signaling that it was time to feast. He would die, and no way to stop it. 
     The black pavement of the street neared like a camera being fully zoomed in. Except the image was crystal clear. He could smell the gas rising out of the cars, could hear the honks and angry shouts of people. Daily life in New York City. About 70 feet away from his death. 
     Goosebumps sprinted up Zo's arms. The image of him slamming into the concrete below brought tears to his eyes. Maybe they were tears of sadness, maybe they were tears from the dryness of the wind blowing on his face. He could not differentiate. Ten feet away from death. 
      A shoelace untied itself from his left shoe. Zo did not understand how. How a shoelace, double knotted, could get untied...
      Two feet from death, his fall stopped. Was he dead? No. His face and upper body dangled just above a yellow taxi cab. Was he dreaming? No. Happiness poured through his veins. He was not dead. Not yet at least. What had saved him?
      His shoelace had become untied because on the double knots were tied loosely, so the loop that was slightly bigger than usual had wrapped around the balcony railing of an apartment. 
      The very thing that had sent him to the brink of death had brought him back to the brink of life. It was funny how things worked out sometimes.