The daughter didn't tell her father what she had heard had happened. He obviously couldn't have known, or else he would have forbid her from doing what she was doing. With just care not to fall, she looked down, over the side of the building. Seven floors below was the ground. Three floors above was where the girl had fallen. They said she fell over the edge backwards, facing into the building.
The mountain sent breeze to the daughter and it tugged on her t-shirt. The shirt was too big for her and it whipped and flapped against her body. Behind she heard her mother say something quietly. She waited to be told to turn around, but only her little brother spoke, hungry. The daughter thought about falling.
She heard her father open the backpack where the savings were. She thought about taking a half bolívar and buying a cigarette with matches to take up past the thirtieth floor to smoke. Her father came over and stood. The sun was completely gone now but the air still felt sticky on her arms.
"We should put the mosquito net up," the daughter said.