One eye crack open, it stutters and then the other opens, fluttering. The rising acid and bile from my chest into my pharynx, and the heavy pants as I see the flesh of life gush from the cervixes of my mouth, where the edges rip. Yes, that’s right, vomit. Fun is only fear that is ultimately near. They say heights are fun, but only then do you experience fear. When you approach something fun, fear jumps out at you, to shit on your party, or quite literally vomit on your party, as I have done. The vomit dissipates into the open space travelling and swindling in the open skies and wind below. When it lands, I think, the acidity would melt the snow wouldn’t it, less cushioning for my skull when It crashes into the rocks lining the floor hundreds of meters below. I sweat, but for the first time I don’t even care, I would usually find a way to wipe away the sweat from my palms or use hand sanitiser so if anyone were to touch them they wouldn’t be too soggy, but to my disdain those thoughts only made them worse. Well I just didn’t care. It funny how we choose what we give a shit about when we look at the impending doom looming below us, what was so bothersome seems so meek. My life seemed so meek and easy to toy with. This is what I get for wanting to have, Fun…

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I swallow and cover my skull with my forearms, acknowledging that as I touch the floor, I would break the fragile bones, but my neurology class taught me that was better than irreversibly causing brain damage, and hitting my head. So I waited, tried and failed to administrate box breathing, but several more meters of free fall, I felt what to be would be liquid. I splashed into water. Now you may ask, is there puke in this water. I reply with yes a remanent or two, not enough to coat me, but enough to make me go back for more. The fear, the vomit and free fall, was too much for my body, so I questioned whether succumbing to drowning as the next way to die would be nice. But all I smell is my vomit and shampoo.