Scrap

A waterfall at the edge of the world, above an abyss, too void to see or even think about. Near and far, a paradox. The gentle sound calms me. Where the water falls away into the emptiness, there is a break of silence, and a bridge of suspended water that dances in spirals and forms a strange shattered mirror. Lush trees and vibrant flowers surround the damp grass and the sweet fragrance of peaches. I sit on a swing, my feet touching the warm damp rocks, the last footholds before the point of no return. If I had nothing to worry about, I would let go and fly out into the abyss at the height of a swing.

A bird perches on a branch. “Miss, I am here to report some news. I was instructed to tell you only one of three messages. Which one would you like?”

“The last one,” I say quickly.

“You died,” he announces. “Your funeral was yesterday.”

I laugh. “How old was I.”

“Twenty-four.” A warble, and a flap of his wings. “I must be going. My condolences.”

“I died at a beautiful age,” I think, and watch the bird fly away. A light rain falls, a wonderful change of weather. How wonderful it is, to feel the wetness on my skin! Playing in the fortuitous precipitation, each drop is dark as it runs off my arms and falls into the moving currents below.

What if I cry in the rain? Will my tears also be black? Who knows. In any case, no words can hope to describe the abyss that calls yet from below. Reaching out, it is like there has never been hands or fingers. Pulling back, everything looks as usual.

Since the start, I was planning to jump. If I was dead anyway . . .