Falling is a thrill, or so I've read.
Yet as I fall closer and closer to the placid, frigid, water there is no thrill. Just good, old-fashioned fear. You see—me and the others—we have forgotten fear. Victoriously chased it away with rumors and accusations. I wrote about it until my hands cramped and my self-conscious bled. My limbs flail around, helpless and weak. I give in to the control of the wind.
Falling is the most fearful thing I will ever do.
Drowning is the most peaceful way to die, or so I've read.
But there is no peace in my lungs. Just intruders made of salt water. I make the mistake of screaming—the ocean can sense fear. It's then I realize I truly have been reduced to nothing but an incoherent, slumped over mess of fear. Not only ten minutes ago, I believed such a mess did not exist anywhere.
Drowning is the most fearful thing I will ever do. Truly, I add, it will be the last.
