musings over certain death

There are times when faced with imminent doom that the world slows down, moments pass greatly reduced in momentum so the observer, the one who is at the frayed end of the string of life, can spot a knot to stop their string unravelling permanently. But in this exact moment, the moment as life rolls over the strands Imogen realised that time had not slowed but she had. Her fall, the plunge from the dizzying heights was not a plunge or a sickening plummet but a gentle reduction of height. Imogen selected at her leisure a handhold which, when her fingers had wrapped around a sturdy chip in the face, pulled the rest of her body round like a cobweb in the wind, she braced herself for when she full bodily struck the vertical rock but all she felt was a gentle kiss as she met the mountain.

Imogen opened her eyes and saw where she was, and although her heart was racing and her head felt light from shock and fear she climbed not understanding what happened but fully aware that she was being closely observed. She would have looked up but she didn’t want to see that grin.

“I don’t care.” Imogen said as she drew level once more to the crossed legged creature who sat as if taking in the view during a stroll.

“I was unaware that I had spoken.” it replied for once looking as if it wasn’t in control of every ball on the table.

“You didn’t but I knew you were going to explain to me the physics behind whatever that farce of a fall was and I really don’t want to hear it. I don’t care if this place is like the moon so I’d bounce as I walk or if little fairies rushed to my aid and took my weight until I could catch myself. Hell, I don’t care if the Devil himself reached out with his hairy arse scratching hand and plucked me from the horror of certain death.”

“Certain death is nothing to worry about. This was not certain death, the magical dancing orbs that create all things are closer here. I could see them dance with my old eyes.”

“Nothing to worry about certain death? What planet are you on? Certain death is certain death and I’ll worry about that for a long time to come. I already have a full nightmare list to go through every night before I sleep, if I ever get into a place where I can sleep again, adding to that with a dream of falling will just about push me over into insomnia.” Imogen was indignant and the only thing stopping her from beating the creature around the side of his perfect dimpled cheek was she needed two hands to cling on with.

“Oh but certain death will lead to, well certain death. There is nothing you can do about it and there won’t be anything for you to do after. I’ve spoken to people who have experienced the activity and they all say they felt calm and comfortable with the developing situation when it happened. They stank of endorphins and adrenaline so they were quite sedated through the final ticks of their personal clocks. The human body is a fabulous chemistry set when it needs to be, I think that’s why my kind find you all so deliciously fascinating as you do what you do. It uncertain death that holds all those fears and worries about what is happening, what will happen and will it hurt when it does happen. Imagine falling from the balcony of a twentieth floor flat onto spiked railings, broken glass in the yard full of undernourished guard dogs. You would care not where you landed as you knew it would be someone else’s problem to clear up and your brain will pass the time by flooding your system with homemade drugs and admiring the wonderful views it's current location provided it. Now think of the same fall but this time from the fourth floor’s balcony, imagine all those wonderfully creative thoughts that your mind would conjure as your body raced towards the spiked metal poles and you heard the baying calls of the starving curs as they approached the unexpected meal. No, an uncertain death hold far more to worry about. But as you were in no real danger let’s not dwell upon the maybe’s, what if’s or could happens and finish our assent prior to time eroding this majestic steps into fine sand.”

The brain is a wonderful organ whose full purpose and design has not even begun to be fully understood but within those delicate cells stunningly creative imaginings can be conceived and constructed so real for our mind’s eye to believe. Imogen now had the image of ending her days as a kebab on a skewer being eagerly devoured by a pack of wild dogs to add to her ever expanding horrors list. On the plus side, the plentiful variations on the theme that played across her mind kept her from thinking about her climb until her hand reached up and found nothing above her. The top had been reached, she had conquered the Steps. The faltering over oblivion had ceased.