failed attempts to fly

a war in my mind

The color of complete silence has a specific hue in the night sky. The color of obsidian, spanning across the cosmos, as the light of distant stars flutters across the world.

I am convinced that shooting stars are just a fable. "A meteor of burning light." Something I have never witnessed before. Even as I convince myself that the wonders and mysteries of the world don't exist, my eyes are glued to the burning suns twinkling in the darkness, hoping for a sign.

If a person saw a shooting star, they have to make a wish on the burning pieces of trash traveling through the universe--apparently.

But all the millions of twinkling stars stare back at me, unmoving. Almost mockingly, as if I was unworthy to wish upon them.

As a child, I convinced myself that time stood still during the darkest part of the night. When the sun was furthest from the surface, nothing existed. Everyone was asleep, dreaming. And the world outside just stopped until dawn.

I would stare at the ceiling, scared to look out the window. Too afraid to see what was out there, what lay beyond the void.

The ideology followed throughout my childhood and teen years. Fear turned into curiosity. No longer staring at the ceiling, afraid. But instead, staring at the closed curtain, hoping a small gust of wind gave me an even sliver. I wanted to see. I wanted to feel what it was like out in the static world.

Was it peaceful?
Was it scary?
Will I feel pain?

"Soul reapers are outside collecting the souls of the damned, so don't go out there when it's the darkest." My brother used to tell me as I confided in him.

When I finally got the courage to walk out the door in the middle of the night, I couldn't help but laugh at the pathetic image I was fixated over for so long. There is no serenity, no peace in the darkness. Only honking cars, flickering street lights, and a drunken teenage brother stumbling in the front yard with a brown paper bag. No reapers in sight. Just a liar.

Because the world continues to spin, continues to move, without me.

The icy gust of wind shocking my skin brings me back to earth. The concrete ground was cold on my skin as my bare feet prickled by the rocky surface.

Each step gets me closer to my destination.

My toes curled on the ground, signaling me not to take another step, warning me the ground below was running out.

The city is almost too bright during the darkest part of the night. The artificial lights are blinding, forcing my eyes to squint to peek below me.

People swerve through the red tail lights, laughing, stumbling, and enjoying whatever the meaning of a night out with friends mean. An ear-piercing sound of all the open bar doors, mixing their different genres into a cluster of unappealing sounds. The faint sound of the arcade "winner!" sound muddling in with all the music. If I squint hard enough, I can always spot a white slash and a crown, a bachelorette party walking in the street. The bride-to-be is almost too drunk to remember she's engaged. Playing where's the bridal party waldo, a ritual, as my knees begin to buckle, as my body is silently screaming:

STOP. Don't take another step.

The human body is a phenomenal machine, almost forcing one to shut down to stop from causing the body harm. I stand frozen as my heart beats out of my chest. The wind moves in the opposite direction, almost as if the earth was pushing me back from the ledge.

But as fear and regret wash over me, my heart races with pure adrenaline, fueling my thoughts. I look down at all the people so absorbed with their own lives. None of them with a clue someone is teetering above them. Teary eyes look up to the stars, almost begging the universe to send me that fucking shooting star. I don't believe in such miracles, but as with all things in life, I still get my hopes up, thinking that maybe this time will be different. Having a wish prepared "just in case."