Life or Hell

Perched on the very edge, I tremble with fear at the thought of moving even the tiniest bit, for I cannot tell if there is anything behind me or how much of a ledge I am sitting on at all.

It is as if I had awakened here by chance, for I have no recollection of how I got here or where it is exactly that I am. I sense that I am sitting upright, but there is so much turmoil and confusion raging in my mind that I am even in doubt as to my orientation in space.

I am paralyzed with fear and that angers me beyond anything I can convey; I despise weakness, yet here I am finding myself completely incapacitated with fear.

Below me is an abyss, no shadows or varying layers of darkness, merely an inky black void of obsidian nothingness. To the front and sides of me is the same, I am enveloped in a stygian environment of empty solitude.

I call out for help and listen for the echo, but there is none, wherever I am, there is nothing to return the sound of my calls and/or screams.

Slowly, as not to lose my balance, I cautiously ease my eyes upward and it is then that the terror consumes the last morsel of sanity that had been clinging desperately in my mind. There is nothing above me, either.

I stare above and try to find some pinprick of light, but there is nothing except more of the chasm of pitch-black solitude.

Moving my eyes back downward, I cannot help myself from imaging the gates of hell itself opening up and belching sulfurous flame to greet me, but there is nothing whatsoever in this void.

Sitting here quietly in lonely isolation, I feel the last bits and pieces of my sanity slipping away from me and as terrifying as the concept is, there is also an odd peace that welcomes the comfort of madness—for with it there must surely come release from knowing, from understanding the trepidations of life.
©2012 J.L. Day