Dropping Point

Your stop is here.

Her arms felt like red hot metal rods, her weight on a branch that seemed too dispirited by the ominous surprise. Her stomach churned and set her senses astray, but her feet went numb.Below was an abyss, depth of which she didn’t know. But the periodical gush of air that roared from the pit-less hole reminded her of nothing but death.

Amidst rocks, trees and desolation, her spirit was not finding much to cling on to. She shut her eyes, allowing the gorge to consume her, bottom up, one part at a time.

The fright and horror was shadowed by the images her memory was trying to throw at her. It was a fight of the mind against itself. Between trying to remain awake and relax herself of the imminent death, between keeping alert and taking her memories take over, she felt torn and exhausted. She was not ready, not yet. She was not ready for the branch to snap on her or her hands to fail on her or her memory to belie her.

S-N-A-P!

She was not ready, not just yet.