Perhaps it was unusual for something so young to face its own death.
I fell for so long that I might never have stopped. I had nary a concept of my own mortality, but in the end it did not matter, because I knew that I would live. It was less of a definite possibility than it was an absolute certainty—because of what I was, who I was. Because even then, I would not allow a half-assed toss off a sky-high cliff to snuff out what there was of me.
But being alone like that in such a way, with the air rushing past you and a vast nothingness all around you and no knowledge whatsoever about where in the void you might end up, self-realization is almost guaranteed.
Mine struck the moment I hit the river, the icy current engulfing my fire and stealing the air from my tiny lungs.
I was alight with the sharp exhilaration that comes with being robbed of every ounce of control.
I would never let it happen again.