Born Of The Cliff - Part 2 So, there I was. 9 years of age, and filled with questions; sadness becoming anger, becoming hatred. I finally settled into a deep loathing of everyone and everything, one that painted my soul black, and turned my heart to ice. I sat there on the cliff edge for hours, watching the sun while it set as if nothing had happened, realising that the sun didn't care. I dangled my feet over the edge, toying with the nothingness. Debating whether I should do what my father failed to do to me. And then I slipped. In that split second of falling, I knew I wanted to live. I knew that I wanted revenge on a world that didn't care it had taken my brother. I wanted to prove to my dad he shouldn't have given up, and that he shouldn't have forced anyone else to give up with him. Unconsciously, my hand snapped out, grabbing the ledge which crumbled through my fingers. I swung my other arm up from where it dangled by my side, howling in pain as my elbow hit the rock, numbing my forearm. With both arms securely in position, I my legs scrabbled at the precipice in a futile attempt to find adequate purchase. When I found none, tears began to well in my eyes, and I ran through my options in my head. I didn't have many, and most ended in death. Shaking slightly, I tensed my arms and pulled my chin level with my knuckles. My left arm quickly left its hold and searched the area above for another. It didn't find one. I felt my right fingers slip from their hold, and then again I was falling. And then I stopped. The feeling that sprung from being suspended in midair by some intangible force over an unmeasurable drop is one that very few people will experience. The fear of the unknown, the curiosity, the adrenaline. All of them coursed through my body, making me shake violently, pulling at whatever invisible, untouchable threads held me in the air above the drop. I concentrated on the threads, wishing them to pull me up, and then, much to my surprise, they did.