March 10, 2009
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What would it be like? To fall. Jump even. Would I feel myself hit the bottom? Would I hear the sickening crunch of my bones? The deafening splat on the rocks below?
Here I stand, on the edge of a cliff, jagged rocks and icy water beneath me. Here I stand, contemplating my certain death, wondering how bad it would hurt. 'Just do it. It won't hurt at all.' I try to convince myself that this could all end. All I had to do was lean. Just let go. I step forward, my bare feet hanging halfway off the edge. I lift my arms and prepare to fly. I lean and close my eyes.
I look up abruptly to see an unfamiliar man on his boat, waving his arms at me like a madman. I squint my eyes to see his face more clearly. Obviously I had forgotten where I was and what I was doing there. That I was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to die. I took another step forward, only to realize that there was nothing to step on. I stumble blindly, struggling to regain my balance. But I do not succeed. I fall.
Terrified, I close my eyes. But naturally, I want to see where I'm falling. The air rushes past me, drying my eyes and violently whipping my long curly brown hair behind me, while my arms and legs are flailing. The last thing I see before I hit the water, is the man ripping off his t-shirt, revealing his tan muscled chest, and jumping in to rescue me. I hit the water with an earsplitting THUNK!, as it drowns me in sharp knives. I am well beneath the surface and I recall I cannot swim. The undercurrent pushes and pulls me this way and that. I feel sick, dizzy. I need air, like a continuous routine, a repeated fix. I paddle pathetically toward the sunlight that is somewhat mottled by the murky water. A vigorous swell of water attacks me from my left side, thrusts me into a rock, hitting my head. All is black and I am dead.
My eyes fly open, blinking rapidly as if to erase the image. That horrible image. My chest rises and falls hastily, my ribs aching with the effort. I slowly raise my hands to my face, eager for reassurance but anxious about what I would find there. My cheeks feel warm and feverish, my lips tremble slightly. I relax, I was still whole. It was a dream, an unfortunate dream. I exhale, realizing that I had been holding my breath. I pull myself upright, glancing at my clock. Its digital blue numbers reflect off my mirror on the wall. 3:25 am. S***.
I pull my covers back and just sit there for a minute, letting my skin accustom to the cool air. The wind was whirling raucously outside my window, causing a gnarly branch to bang on my window repeatedly. I pull my feet from under the covers and place them on the floor, expecting my slippers to be where I leave them usually. But there was nothing under my feet except for the soft shag carpet. I tilt and twist my body till I am on the floor, facing the space between my bed and my floor. I fumble around blindly under my bed, knowing what I want but nervous about what I would actually find. I can't even remember the last time I cleaned under my bed. I give up and turn so that my back is against the bar on my bed. I cross my legs Indian-style and give a loud sigh.
What did that dream mean? Is there any significance? I doubt it. A dream's a dream right? Definitely just a dream. No worries.

I try to convince myself that this dream meant nothing. That the thrashing around I was doing in my dream was merely a reaction. I feel as if I could sleep more, my eyelids becoming too much of a burden to keep open any longer. I also felt lazy, but I attempt to get up anyway, only to fail miserably. I settle for the floor, reaching for my Spongebob Squarepants blanket that had fallen sometime during the night. I sink into sleep, almost with relief, knowing somehow that I would be safe in my dreams.

I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, my bare feet hanging halfway off the edge. It feels like a case of d'j' vu. There's a man yelling at me. I lean forward. This is definitely familiar.

And I fall, my arms and legs flailing in the air.

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