Death isn’t something to be afraid of. It is an inventible, unavoidable force that claims us all if we are ready for it or not. Unlike many others in the world I do not fear it. Whether I die today, tomorrow, or in eighty years it will come eventually so why fear the inventible?
I’m a thrill seeker. Called a reckless idiot, most believe that in search of adventure; I’ll get myself killed. Perhaps I will but so will everyone else someday, and it’s better to live your life while you can because you never know when that day is going to come. In my mind, they’re the idiots for not taking the opportunity.
In all my life, I’d never met someone else like me, someone who isn’t afraid, until I met her. Olivia Rose lived three houses down from me and had just moved last week. I had only seen her once in passing, so I didn’t really know what to expect from her. I’ll admit she was okay looking, with long wavy brown hair and a delicate complexion, but she wasn’t pretty enough for a second glance. To anyone else she most likely seemed average, but from the one time I had seen her, I knew that there was something I was missing. She had this odd fragile like aura, like a doll that would snap if you did hold it properly. Looking back I find it extremely ironic that those were my thoughts, because they couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
It was only later on in the week that I truly got to meet her. It was already dark and everything was still wet and damp from yesterdays rain. The air was crisp and leaves swirled in the air, signalizing that school was to start again soon. I didn’t mind school as much as some of my peers, because I looked at the bigger picture. School was necessary for children to grow up and learn their spot in society. If done properly, it could give children a helpful hand and a sense of normality in their lives. People these days cherished normality; they seemed to crave it. Some of the brightest people have been deemed insane, simply because their inventions, theories, and logic defy the average person of the time’s sense of normal. I understand this, and therefore have no quarrel with the school system.
I sat on the water tower sitting on the edge with my feet dangling over the edge, the literal edge of death. If one were to fall from this height, it would be a few seconds of free falling before they hit the ground hard, ending their life. I suppose that was one of the reasons I liked it so much, knowing how dangerous it was but yet not being afraid of the fall. It symbolized something in my mind. The town glowed slightly, all of the suburb house lights blending together to make one hell of a picture. It truly was beautiful, and it was a shame no one would truly be able to see it for its complete beauty. They were to busy being normal. I suppose why I thought so much about the concept of normality was that I believed that no one was normal. The concept of being normal flew over my head and was too difficult for me to grasp on to. How could one be normal if everyone in the world was different? It would mean that people would have to pretend. They would have to purposefully try to fit a mold that society has created, and what was the point of that? I hate that we, as a people, groom others to follow the rules and to act a certain way. It is a pitiful attempt at achieving perfection that, no matter how hard some people try, is never going to happen. The worse part about it all was the fact that we shun and look down on people who do not fit this idea of normal. Whether ideas, religions, or the color of ones skin, if it doesn’t fit the status quo, it is considered wrong. Some people understand this but no one is willing to fully accept it. It is impossible to overcome that many years of grooming. Impossible to overcome the ideas we’ve grown up with.
It wasn’t often that I got to do this, to sit up here alone with only my thoughts. It is hard to get away from it all sometimes. It was a little past 11 when I had snuck out my bedroom window and it was probably around two now. I knew I had to be back by four so I had two hours left to do as I pleased. I thought about what I should do now. Perhaps I would go down the town center and walk around for a while. The scene down there was much nicer at night, much more peaceful. I got up and dusted my clothes off. The water tower was a very dirty structure, I betted no one had been up here in years besides me, especially since it wasn’t in service anymore. But it was a normal sight in the town, and no one had the heart to take it down, the town just wouldn’t look normal without it. I had forgotten how many times I have climbed up and down the ladder and I started to fall into a routine, leg down hand down, leg down hand down, over and over. I was still focused on my thoughts and feelings, lulled into a peaceful mind by the comforting tradition that was my climb down. Leg down hand down, leg down hand down. But there was something different. Something that I should have been cautious of and paid more attention to. In my foolishness I had not noticed how seemingly wet the ladder still was from yesterdays rain. I felt my hands slipping and not being able to get a good grasp on the bars. I tensed up my fear of falling coming to the front of my mind. My legs went next. Having your knees bent and perfectly balancing your weight is highly important, and my tense posture was not doing me any favors. I went slower, my body practically shaking every time I felt my hand slip for the bar. I tried everything I could, but the combination of the wet bars with the sudden fear I had just developed made it impossible. I fell.
The few seconds I had before I hit the ground were the best ones of my life. Everything seemed so clear to me and I felt so incredibly relaxed. It was as if I was separated from my body and from everything that was going on. I didn’t even notice the ground reaching up to meet me. I landed hard, my back and left shoulder hitting the ground first. I let out a scream, so harsh and terrified it seemed animalistic and raw. I screamed for quite a while until my voice could take no more. I then switched to crying and whimpering softly. I could move no more than a few fingers and could feel almost nothing. I felt different now, the will to survive over ruling any small voice in my head telling me not to fear what was coming, to not fear death.
After a while of calling out I gave up, my voice being so broken that I could take no more. It was then I heard a rustle in the bushes soft footsteps approaching. I said a silent thanks and clung to the hope of rescue. I gathered what strength I had left.
“Hello?” I asked. There was no response. I listened for any footsteps. I heard some. “Oh please come help me,” I cried desperately a few tears trickling down my blood caked face. “My name is James Patterson I live on North Albany Lane,” I heard no reply, no one telling me that they were going for help. Laying on my back all I could see was the night sky above me. So I lay there, waiting, slowly dying, and watching the night sky. It was the humming that I heard first. It was a child’s song, a soft but cheery melody. It was then followed by footsteps, getting louder. Someone was coming.
She seemed almost like an angel standing over me covered in moonlight. She was still humming. It was Olivia Rose. She looked down on him with a raised eyebrow, not shocked by his appearance in the least.
“What are you doing on the ground my friend?” She asked me. At first I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying, the words seeming so unreal. I expected her to run, screaming, for help, or to call an ambulance, she did none of that. Instead she asked me what I was doing on the ground. I couldn’t comprehend it. I breathed heavily trying to catch my breath. She crouched down, sitting on her haunches, and poked my side. I felt a round of pain run through me and I cried out. She pulls her finger away, now covered in blood. She looks at it, then wipes her finger on her jeans. “It looks like you’ve be injured.” She says her calmness startling me. I tried to move on and ignore her comment. It took me a few tries to speak, for when I tried I coughed up blood.
“Will you help me?” I asked her, my words coming out raspy, accompanied by more blood. She shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged.
“I suppose.”
“Oh, thank god, thank you!” There was a long pause while I starred at her, expectantly. She starred back, her calm, collected face never wavering. She moved to sit next to me, resting her head on one knee.
“Beautiful night isn’t it?” She asked, tilting her head up to look at the sky.
“You think it is beautiful?” I asked, not even being able to move my head to stare at her.
“Yea, I do,” she said. After a while of starring, I could feel her gaze shift back to me.
“It’s a shame no one ever can see it, a true tragedy I tell you. To busy with their pretend lives.” I felt myself stiffen, my whole body turning cold. I didn’t know what to say. I started to mumble incoherently. “You wouldn’t understand,” she stated, noticing my struggle. I tried to protest but no words came out. I tried again, but found I could no longer speak. The air now seemed musky and stiff, and nothing felt right. “You shouldn’t be afraid you know,” she said with a small smile, “of death I mean, you can scream and cry all you want but it will come, and there is no need to fear the inventible.” She commented. “I know you don’t understand that though, no one does.” I looked at her with only pity, a gaze that held no anger at her. After all I had thought the same a few hours ago. To think so much can change so quickly. I felt my eyelids getting heavy; willing them to stay open was no longer an option. The world span and became fuzzy. I felt darkness reaching out to me. The last thing I head was a soft goodbye from Olivia Grace, who sat there with a smile on her face.