So here I stand on the canyon edge – the precipice of all doubt and hope. The cold wind exhilarates and horrifies me. I am weak-kneed and pale with fear. My audience is sky and rocks. Soon I’ll be kissing one or the other for sure. 

One last glance up at my patchwork creations. I’ve been tinkering with these wings for some time. Sewing, strapping, bending, testing, re-sewing… wondering in the quiet of my shop if these strange conglomerates of extravagant dreams and meager budget will even hold. The stretched canvas drums softly in the breeze, seams flutter, and I feel a confident tug upward. I’m proud of them. They’re not the prettiest wings – definitely not industry standard, but I think they’ll do.

They’ll have to, because behind me a shadowy figure approaches. His name is Now Or Never and for the life of me I don’t know why I invited him. The arrangement is such; if I can’t jump he’ll be doing the pushing. The bugger’s perfect for the job… cold, indifferent, and immediate. Never talks, never warns or encourages. Rumor has it he whispers just a single word before he pushes – unique to each pushee. Cold hands on the back, one stark utterance behind the head, and off you go.

The air has become strangely still. I slide my foot to the edge. Pebbles crumble into the canyon. The time has come.

I don’t think I can take the step. Good Lord, there’s the hands. If I live through this, I’ll let you know what he said.