All it would take is a simple miss-step.
A slip of the foot, and all of your pains, your troubles and miseries, would be over and done.
You stare over the edge of oblivion without so much as a bat of your eyelashes. It used to scare you, terrify you whether you were awake or asleep, but as time progresses, as does your intrigue.
What would it be like?
Falling indeffinitely?
Would it.. hurt?
A bird jars your thoughts as it alights onto the edge beside you, head bobbing in a pigeonly fasion as it strolls along with its tailfeathers toward you. So casual, so light..
Its feathers ruffle as a gentle cross-breeze sweeps past, your own dusty brown bangs brushing along your forehead. There's a blare down below and your eyes are drawn back to the depths beneath you. So far, yet so close- how long would it take? There was probably some sort of equation for it. Maybe you'll look it up when you go home.
If you go home.
You, like everyone else, have heard the stories. A heart broken lover, a mad psychopath, a cornered, guilty man. You are none of these, but you can feel it. The drawing, welcoming abyss of death. Everyone faces it eventually. It takes someone with true courage to face it down of your own accord.
With that thought you stumble back a half step. You're a lot of things and courageous is certaintly not one of them. The pigeon turns to gaze at you with beady, questioning eyes. You stare back at it, watching with fascination as it fearlessly leaps over the edge, soaring away on delicate wings.
The bird is braver than you. You sneer after it.
It takes time, but you work your way back to the edge; toes hanging over, scarlette eyes half-lidded in morbid wonder. If only you had wings. Then, if you do slip, if you miss judge your steps and are sent plumeting, you and your cowardly ways will have an out. You would catch yourself at the last second and save your worthless life.
Grimacing, you close your eyes. Then open them. Then sigh and close them again. You have the strangest notion that if you dare to close them long enough, the abyss will come up and envelope you, impatient with your fearful stepping down everytime you work up the nerve. You suck in a sharp breath and open your eyes again.
You can't do it, can't trust it to let you be as you stew blindly on the edge. If you can't trust it in life, then how would you manage such a feat in death? Would it even matter? Self preservation would be a moot point. You're dead. What's the worst that could happen.
... it would take only a slip. Only a slip and you would be dead. Only a slip and you wouldn't have to worry anymore.
Steeling your nerves, you begin to shift your weight forward, though when you look down to see if oblivion is there to invite you in, you realize you can't see it. Or anything, for that matter. It feels like acid is running down your face and you reach up in surprise, realizing you're crying. The air is knocked out of you by the gravity of what you were about to do and you collapse onto your back, drawing into a trembling ball.
It's not fair. You're too much of a coward. So close...
Because all it would take is a simple miss-step.
A slip of the foot, and all of your pains, your troubles and miseries, would be over and done.