“Just do it” they said. “Yeah, let go.” “You’ll be fine.”
Imagine the bridge – that span crossing the rocky gorge, amazing in itself that mankind can build something across so much open nothingness. Traffic along the highway that crosses the bridge slows perhaps because the drivers of the cars are polite, but probably because they want to get a good look at the lunatics standing in the middle of the bridge looking over the edge. There’s even a helpful “No stopping, standing, or jumping” sign posted right next to the alcove added by the bridge’s creators for pedestrians to stop and take in the view – which is also amazing. Flat land on either side of the gorge, and then a sheer drop of 400 some feet down to a ribbon of blue and white water making its way past seemingly small boulders and other landslidy debris below.
“How will I get back up?” you ask; a reasonable question. There doesn’t seem to be a trail anywhere running from the rim to the water.
“We’ll hoist you back up.”
“On a springy line?” You ask, fingering the fancy wrist-thick rubber-band they’re going to connect to your feet. What if it’s too springy and you bang your head on the rocks? Hell, what if you bounce back up and get tangled on the iron trusses. And of course, what if the line breaks? An additional line made of non-springing material is attached to your waist. A parachute is not offered.
You look over the edge again. Dizziness reaches up from under the bridge and grabs you by the throat and starts to choke you.
“It’s a life changing event. Go for it!”
Somehow you find yourself standing on the other side of the railing, grasping the edge with sweaty palms. Your own shaking threatens to knock you off your perch whether you want to jump or not.
You don’t hear the honking of the curious cars or the helpful instructions being whispered in your ear. All you hear is a loud roar and your vision seems to pulsate with the beat of your heart.

And then you’re falling.

Did someone just say they hadn’t connected the rubber band yet?

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