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Ngat a gene: Off the Ledge

Ngat a gene: Off the Ledge: I am tired. It’s true.   I didn’t think it possible. I have been here far too long. I have always danced to my own tune. Now I...

Off the Ledge

I am tired.

It’s true.  I didn’t think it possible.

I have been here far too long.

I have always danced to my own tune.

Now I realize, I only played the fiddler’s tune.

I have toed the line.

It used to be figurative. Now my toe is sore.

I have lived on the edge, flourished even. 

The adrenaline rush, the flaring nostrils, thin films of sweat on the brow.

The tingling in the extremities.

What a fool I have been!

Mistaking fear for daring – cowardice for rebellion.

It’s time.

I cannot toe anymore, can’t stay on the edge any longer.

How stupid I have been!

Thinking I could play this game, never realizing when I got soft, never understanding the sinister grins. Never believing that it was over. Left alone on the chessboard, dancing alone in the dark.

I need to jump.

To take that leap.

The leap that either kills me or births me. Catapulting me higher or sinking me deeper.

Why did I believe the lies?

That to live on the edge was the epitome of living.

I slowly ease away, turn my back on the edge…

It’s not that I am now scared, no, now I see!

I realize it isn’t the place for me.

I am too familiar with it.

I walk in search of a virgin edge. An unadulterated edge.

One without the tormenting voices, one where there shall be no hesitation, no blurred vision.

I walk…

Straight off the ledge.