Falling Down
January. A Tuesday. I almost died today.
Funny. All the time I spent as a kid, fantasizing about Death’s embrace, only to fight it when it almost claimed me. When I stared Death in his single eye, I realized I didn’t really want to die. Maybe it was the high side of my melancholia, kicking up the embers of my fear. Death stuck its blackened toe in the water, testing the limits of my mettle.
In my euphoria, I almost failed the exam.
Climbing. I was climbing. In front of people. They were following me, wherever I decided to go. It didn’t matter to me that they were paid to be there. Under my leadership. Somebody said I was leadership material, and that meant it was so. To me, at least.
So. Climbing. Rock faces look navigable up close. Hairline fractures and broken footholds. Ancient shelves of solitude. They tease me, make me scale them on a double-dog-dare. I bet you can’t reach the top without falling. You won’t be brave enough to climb without a tether. Are you sure this is the best place to wedge your boot?
It was that moment, the last question, that tripped me. I paused, insomuch as I could on a vertical surface, and in my dallying with my foot dangling free, I slipped. Like I was levitating in midair. Frozen, a hundred feet above the ground.
I remember looking at the exact spot, the one where I would burst open like a tossed piece of fruit. I wondered whether the dirt would be offended, to be forced fed bits of me.
My arms whirring like a windmill, I recall studying the rock in front of me. How it scrolled as I plunged. Layers of rock gouging into my space. Twinkling. Saluting me as I fell.
And, I didn’t want to die. Not in that crunchy displacement of bones and sinew. No. Not that day. Maybe not ever.
I grabbed the leather scabbard of my knife, and I heaved the metal point into the rock. Dislocated shoulders heal. Spilled brains do not. My blade found purchase. My strength halted my fall. Everyone saw me save my own miserable life.
More than one of them told me they would follow me anywhere.
If they could see me now, I wonder. Would they follow me here?
This post is part of the series Death Becomes Me. It is a series of fiction. If this is your first visit to the series, please click here to read the first story.
Trackbacks & Pingbacks
- You Can Call Me Selfish? « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- Shooting Blanks « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- I Died Inside Her « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- Every Tear Is a Waterfall « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- Pierced in the Side « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- I Won’t Back Down « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- Corpse Reviver No. 2 « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
- The Shots Heard Round the World « The Accidental Cootchie Mama
Then falling dream is one I have had often growing up and as a young adult, not so much anymore. I think that is why I am a bit hesitant to get close to the edge of any high precipice, I don’t want to risk that dream overtaking me.
Lou, I’m right there with you. I get vertigo from looking at the Patagonia catalogs when they come in the mail.
I’m heading to Patagonia in November. Can’t wait!
I want to hear all about it, Debbie. I’ve never made it there, and it has been on my list for years.
YAY! The will to live is stronger than the curiousity of death (at least his own anyway).
Love it. This brought a smile to my face this morning. Hope, there’s still hope. It’s a lovely thing.
But, what causes the will to live? Was it the people watching him? Looking up to him as a leader? The thought that he didn’t really decide to fall, that it was an accident he didn’t choose? I must ponder deeper…..
Some people live for others…some people just think they want to die and when given a choice they choose to live instead. Could be the fear of the unknown? Ponder onward my friend…I’m enjoying your journey.
I still have to work on his voice, so I will press on. Today’s (the waterfall one) sounded too much like my own, I’m afraid.
“I remember looking at the exact spot, the one where I would burst open like a tossed piece of fruit. I wondered whether the dirt would be offended, to be forced fed bits of me.”
You’ve got some stuff, my friend. Whew.
Wow, this was very powerful “hold your breath” reading Andra.
Thanks, Howard. I was holding my breath when I wrote it.
Ooh. So a flashback to a former near death ,and now back to ‘here’ – sitting with the gun? Or somewhere other? Can’t wait to find out.
He’s an adult in this installment, so no flashback. He’s pondered killing himself numerous times in his teens, so it is interesting to me that he would not want to die when it would be so easy. To me, it’s almost like he didn’t choose this particular death, so he doesn’t want it. He only craves an end of his choosing.
Is it maybe the instinct to control the time of death…not to necessarily avoid it entirely, but to make the decision for himself? Very interesting considerations, Andra. I also have a fear of “the edge” in heights. I don’t worry abut being “up there” but can’t get near an edge. And I think I can connect some of that fear from dreams where I have jumped. Just thinking about this kind of makes me queasy, so good writing! My eye just caught your comment to jesterqueen, so I think I did get that part right about the timing and his own choosing. I think we humans probably all have a natural grab towards control, especially in how we die. Cheerful, huh? LOL! Debra
I wish this guy could be more cheerful, but it seems that’s not him. At least, not yet. I’ll continue to work on him on the blog for a few more days. We might find some thread of happiness yet.
You do have a good eye, Debra.
I am so afraid of heights that I used to hyperventilate when I hiked to a high place. Forcing myself to do it over and over again has helped me manage that fear, but you still won’t see me staring over an edge.
Oooh, where? That must be some really dark place.
You could say that, Kate. He’s in a very dark place now. This is all back story. Me trying to get the voice. These are tedious and selfish of me, but I really do like to see the reactions.
“My blade found purchase.” I love that sentence!
I rather like that one, too, Kathy. More of those kinds of phrases will give him some variations of hue.
I can’t go up on high bridges and look out over the edge very long, or I get this feeling that I want to jump. Apparently this is a very common thought with people who have a fear of heights.
I don’t ever want to jump. I just get really dizzy and feel like I’m going to fall. At least you CAN look over the edge for a little bit.
That’s a very satisfying sequel to the last bit; I’m guessing that last moment realization is something that happens a lot. I’m very curious about what the nature of his issues are.
I find it interesting that he notices details in moments like this one.
My sense is that there is a difference between those who want to commit suicide and those with a death wish. Your fellow is, perhaps, suicidal but he clearly does not have a death wish. It seems to be a matter of control. As a suicide you control the entire event. With a death wish, you just keep putting yourself in harms way until something happens.
I love the last line. A beautiful cliffhanger.
I wonder if it changes, though. Like if a certain thing can happen in life, and the person suddenly has a death wish. He’s on the edge of a cliff. That’s for sure.
Thank you, Robert.