All. My. Fault.

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I traveled to Hawaii
with my parents
when I was twelve.

We went to this place
where people dove
off the cliffs
into the
cool
blue
waters
below.

For some
totally random reason,
on that partying
day in May,
I thought of those
adrenaline junkies
who were so much
like Jackson.

Then I said those
three
stupid
words
and Jackson's eyes
moved toward the sky,
like a vulture eyeing his prey,
as he considered
the greatest
challenge
yet.

He climbed up high.
Way high.
He spread out his arms,
like Jesus on the cross,
and shouted,
"This is going to be so great!"

Suddenly
I knew.
I knew it was a
bad
idea.

I screamed, "STOP!"

Just a
second
too
late.

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