Before She Goes

The wind felt like sand grazing her skin as she fell. Down. It didn’t whistle, it roared a deep bass. A terrifying sound. There was a twisted type of beauty to it all, being weightless for a fleeting minute, flying. Yet flying downward ends in collision.

Down. Her eyes rolled back at the first whip of pine. Sporadic branches and tips, spiky, pointed up to catch her, to impale her. Her body’s descent was no longer linear once she passed the canopy - her limp form was raggedly flipped and thrashed between the trees. She caught on thicker branches, pausing the motion for a moment, before rolling off.

Somehow through the slicing of the jagged air and the volatile sticks, she remained conscious. So it seemed. Down. Down. The darkness of clenched eyes.

The forest felt taller than the sky. How long had it been since her feet had last touched earth?

She’d have ventured a peek, given the chance. But down. Down.

An impact that shook the gods rang through the valley. It echoed distortion up the bluff behind her. The depth of the sound spoke to so many things of wonder. Her watery body collided with a hard, yet forgiving form. The warm mass beneath her rushed forward like a stream of time. The landing didn’t hurt; it didn’t register in her brain.

Her mount rose through the thicket of pines. Her head spun and wove, desperately clawing to catch up to reality. Did the bends feel like this? But she felt peaceful… more peaceful than before. The world seemed bathed in amber. Maybe she was, too.

Fingertips traced and curled around cream scales. A creature, it was. They escaped the forest, the same air she had tumbled through moments before was now a calm wash of mindfulness. Serendipity.

Could she reach the clouds? Down, the world was graying. A heavenly fog obscured the furthest reaches of the landscape. The slowest of smiles graced her lips as her eyes fell closed again.

“Why do you leap?” A deep, gentle voice rumbled from beneath her. It flowed over her consciousness like honey. Such a difficult question, but the answer was drawn from her mind as a dandelion plucked from the field.

“I’m fearful.” She didn’t feel the air pass through her lungs and over her tongue.

“Are you fearful now?”

“No. I feel safe.”

“Then why do you leap?”

Her thoughts took a few moments to gather. She ran her fingers through the silky mane of the dragon. “I’m not good enough to stay. I don’t feel worthy.”

“Our planet is a beautiful place. You are a part of that beauty, see? Every creature deserves its place given.”

Did she believe the animal? A tear slipped down her cheek at the notion. Beauty. Down, the world was entirely gone. There was nothing but a waving, gray sea. It billowed rolling hills.

“Why do you leap?” The dragon asked again.

“I wanted out.” She relented. Her head fell to the scaly neck where she clung. “I wanted out. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“How so?”

“Everything was too much. The world. The people. Life. I just,” she hid her face, clenching her eyelids. “I wanted it all to end.”

“And has it?” This caused her head to rise. The beyonds were still gray. The skies were still adorned in golden leaf.

“I don’t know.”

“It has.”

The certainty was peaceful. There was no more worry or wonder or wander of the mind. If this was the end, the end was kind.

“What else is there, then?”

“Up and down.” Two realms. Two certainties. Two choices.

“Do I get to pick?” A forlorn hope. She’d asked for this fate.

“You already have.”

“When did I choose to jump?” The question was meant for herself. The idea of her reflection fading from the world trickled in fear.

“You chose when you turned your back.” The creature answered anyway. The headiness of the sweet clouds quelled her rise.

“I didn’t turn my back. I ended it. I ended it for myself.”

“Yet you’ve ended more than you realize.”

Her vision lost definition, the grays blurring into the golds. A muddy mess. The warmth lingered for a moment longer, then dissipated into darkness.

She was gone.

At the edge of the bluff, stamped sedge and tumbled rock told a story. A small piece of the world had given way and fallen to the forest.

The dragon returned, snaking its long body around a stunned form. Small hands stumbled over cream scales. Her young son hadn’t leapt.