She stood on the edge of a precipice, looking down
At the waves crashing against the rock
Focusing on the dull ebb and flow of the water,
The off-white foam that clung to its lip, similar to a rabid dog.
He stood at the top of a high limestone scar,
Approached the sheer point that dropped off into the valley below
Fallen away from years of wind eating away at its side.
Fight or Flight.
To jump or not to jump.
To fall, or fly, or flail in the empty space,
To bask in the embrace of whatever might catch you.
Flight or Fight.
