The Pit

I can’t quite remember when I began falling.

I remember a time before.

And I remember now.

And I have memories leading up to this point.

But the beginning.

The point where standing faded into falling.

The beginning is lost to me.

 

Now I simply fall.

It’s not so bad, really.

You get used to it, at least.

But the fear never really goes away.

 

At first you fear the bottom of the pit.

The splat.

But the bottom never comes.

Then you fear for food.

The hunger rises within you.

But it never consumes you.

Then you fear the future.

An eternity of falling.

But you can grab the edge.

Then you fear the past.

Then you let go.

 

This bit I only just started writing.

I grab the edge.

The friction hurts my fingers.

I almost let go.

But I hold on.

I look up.

Darkness.

I start climbing.

Darkness.

My grip loosened

But I hold on.

I keep climbing.

I see the top.

I see it.

I see it.

It’s bright.

It’s so bright, so terrifying.

I almost fall.

I keep climbing.