It hurts to hold on. I stare up at the gray rocks above me as my fingers grow numb from my weight. I am dangling from the cliff as a bitterly cold wind skims across the exposed flesh of my belly beneath a tattered red shirt. I dare to crane my head back just a little more as my heart hammers against my ribs to see what was above me. I hope to see something I could use to pull myself up, but my brown eyes are met with blackness instead. Where was the sun? I couldn't even make out the shapes of clouds or the glimmer of stars. Cold moisture, like mist, begins to slowly coat my face the longer I stare up. My fingers ache and bitterly protest for rest, but I don't dare let go. How did I get here? I was just taking a walk along the path of life. I slipped. I made a mistake...

Life Thinking Indecision First Person Lost Death Fiction Interpret

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