He claws at the apex, his toes scraping at oblivion.
She looms above, grasping hands in grimy pockets, hungry witness to his struggle.
His hands slip. She gasps, then giggles. Leans down. Whispers.
“Your failure is thrilling, we all agree. Don’t stop.”
The chasm gnashes. The sky beckons.
The only difference between flying and falling is perspective.
Breathe. Then release.