She stood on the edge of the precipice and felt it again. Vertigo. That uncontrollable urge to fall. She had heard or read that somewhere, but she could never remember where. She supposed it didn't matter anymore.
She had also read somewhere that the word "vertigo" is an incorrect term for a fear of heights, which is actually "acrophobia." But she didn't fear heights. She felt an uncontrollable urge to fall. This urge made her dizzy, hence "vertigo."
Again she stood on the edge of the precipice. She knew that she could just close her eyes and let herself go. That was what she feared the most, that knowledge.
She knew she should tell someone about this urge. Maybe then they would stop taking her to the edges of precipices, or at least not let her get so close. But how do you tell someone that you don't want to fall, but know you could quite easily and are finding that urge less and less controllable? You just don't. That's the kind of thing you keep to yourself. You don't want them to worry. Though you know that perhaps they should.
These were the things that wandered through her mind as she stood on that edge. These things and the urge to fall of course.
As usual, she turned and walked away, but the customary fear bit at her stomach: would she be able to turn away at the next precipice?
This comment really has nothing to do with your spectacular writing, but I wanted to tell you that I have been to the LBJ Wildflower Center, and it is one of my favorite places.
ReplyDeleteI took a very long walk there once, and it only took one walk for me to decide that it is one of the very best places to ever take a walk. Ever.