Out on a Ledge

This is just a small atmosphere piece I wrote one day. 

 

I was edging along a narrow path, more of a ledge really. Now, I am terrified of heights, and even looking down from the second step of a ladder gives me vertigo. Yet here I was, trying not to think about where I was while my knees turned to jelly and my head whirled.

The path here was perhaps wide enough for a normal person to walk on, if they were surefooted and careful. However, when it comes to heights, I am not a normal person. So here I was, back pressed against the wall, arms splayed out, fingers clenching the rock, shuffling along sideways. The edge was altogether too small of a distance from the toes of my shoes, and I moved as slowly as I could (which was also as fast as I could move just now.). I must have looked a sight, except there was no one else there to see me. I could be thankful for small blessings.

I came to a slightly wider place in the trail and slowly slid down into a sitting position, very gingerly and carefully. A gust of wind came by and whipped my hair into my face and I was thankful that I was sitting down. As unsteady as I was, that little push of wind might very well have sent me toppling over the edge. As I sat there and tried to catch my breath and pull myself together, I wondered how on earth I had managed to get myself into this position.

The trail had been going along nicely, up and down hills, by streams and through forests and fields, and I had been enjoying the journey. New scenery around each bend and fresh sights kept me entertained and contented, and I was quite happily striding along.

Then, suddenly, the path had changed, and in the space of a few steps, I found myself on a narrow path that was climbing ever higher. I was uneasy, and looked back thinking that I would turn around, but as I did, I heard a rumbling and then the path behind me was wiped out by rocks and dirt hurtling down the hill from above. I covered my head with my arms, but a few stray stones still hit me with stinging blows. When I looked up again, coughing, the path was gone and the only direction I could go was ahead.

The trail had grown ever steeper, higher, and narrower, until I was here, edging along trying not to look down, lest the ground far below me wobble and spin and pull me down to it.

I sat there for a long while with my heart still pounding and my legs unable to support my weight. Finally, I edged along on the seat of my pants, moving forward once more. At this rate, I might find a way off this damned ledge sometime in the next week or two. I didn’t think I could last that long.

Part of the path shifted underneath me, and I stopped, gulping, with my eyes closed and my heart racing. Everything steadied after a moment, and I caught my breath and swore. I did not want to be here, and angrily, futilely, wished I could throw and smash something or pound a hole in something, for all the good it would do me. Tears streaking the dirt on my cheeks, I finally used the energy from my rage to move a few more feet.

The path narrowed again, and I was sitting on it like I would a chair, with my feet dangling off into empty space. I tried to tell myself that I was just sitting on a rock, with my feet inches off the ground, but I wasn’t buying it. The sun was starting to set now, and it was growing chilly. I turned my head carefully, without moving my body, and looked ahead. The path seemed to end abruptly about twenty feet farther along.

My mouth felt like someone stuffed it full of cotton. I worked for a minute and finally got enough saliva to swallow. It looked like I was well and truly trapped. Finally, hoping that there was a path lower down, or a sudden turn, I wiggled onward. I wasn’t going to find out sitting still.

By the time I made it to the point where the path disappeared, with my slow and unsteady pace, it was fully dark out. The wind was blowing steadily and the temperature had dropped to near freezing. By the light of the rising moon, I could see that the trail did end there. There was nothing there but blackness. I leaned back against the wall behind me, fingers digging into the ground. Not only was I sitting on this ledge, I also had nothing but open space to one side of me. My head spun again.

As I pressed back, I could feel something shifting and I felt like I was going to slide off and fall. I pressed back even harder and then I did fall- but I fell backwards as the wall behind me disintegrated into sand and rubble. Then I was lying on my back on a lumpy pile of rocks in a cave, with my legs still hanging off the ledge.

-She Wolf (c) 2008