the threads in her head

The precipice. But she did not know she had arrived.

One step.

And then she realised that there was no ground coming up to meet her feet.

The world was panic. There was a slightest moment of disbelief - but the downward plunge told her this was real, and her heart gave a silent cry of pain, and an incredible sadness rose up within her, as tears stung her eyes. For a moment it seemed she could cry and cry, and the tears were threatening to spill even, but she held it back.

An instinct told her to grab, and grab she did with the wildest of hope...

A solid firm grip she had. A sigh of relief. She made her way back up, one hand following the other hand, legs pushing, hand pulling. Her muscles strained, but she made it. Ground. She sat there, quiet.

The urge to cry danced within her, a graceful dance that twisted itself so gently around her heart, landed on it with the softest of kisses and hugs. But she did not give in. She pulled her legs back, hug them tight, buried her head in the warmth and darkness of the hollow she created for herself, and drew in deep breaths, shakingly. The lone tree seemed to shudder along with her.

It was a long moment before she allowed to look over, down below. And then the desire was replaced with one of laugher, of having escaped the hands of Death, of having a situation turn favourable again.

Oh laugh, laugh she could indeed! But she did not.

Deep below, the sheer height of the fall yawned, and the yawn echoed round.