I look. Down. We’re so high all you can do is look down. But it’s a long way away.
I feel. Fear. The wind whips my face and the Earth spins far below me. Blocks of colour twist and swirl. The wind is throwing my hair against my face. It bites into my skin.
I grip hard onto the handle. Bare metal cuts into bare flesh. But I feel nothing – my fingers are cold, numb.
I pull myself out of my petrified state. Slowly I retreat, away form the gaping opening in the side of the plane. It looks like a mouth, waiting to swallow me up.
I know I can’t do it.
I turn my head to one side and open my mouth, ready to protest. But invisible hands grip me from all sides, gently encouraging me forward. A face flashes before my eyes. I see the mouth forming words, but the words are taken away by the wind. I hear nothing but the wind, angry in my ears.
I take a deep breath. I must do it. I force myself to calm down, but my heart throbs defiantly. It pounds and pulses, daring me to move.
I look. Down. So high all you can do is look down. Then it happens.
A very fast, very short story, like a rush of thoughts, as the adrenaline increases…