This is a freewritten short story called Elation versus Panic:
There she is, standing at the apex of the roof, looking down at the pavement, slick and wet below. The rain slaps around her, cold with a hint of almost-snow.
She closes her eyes and sees rainbows spiral out with jangling stars, shapes of hazy distinction and skidding glitchy sounds.
People below her gather and shout. She opens her eyes and looks down at them gesturing with panic. They think she is going to jump. She is not interested in jumping, only in looking and feeling. Sensation rushes like a beautiful buzz.
People are always asking what why who when?
She doesn’t care about these questions. All she cares for is the rush, the changing unfixed unmeaning sensation.
She likes their panic. She shares her rush with them. They interpret it with panic. Panic or elation; they are all sensation and they all put notches of experience onto our souls.