The Definition of Dysania (A Collection of Short Trepidations)

𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩

The pit in my stomach groans, expands, and deepens, mist slithers nonchalantly around my ankles, and my eyes can't decide whether to focus or blur. I am looking down, trying to decipher if anything lies there.

All I remember is last night, and I was given a proposal; here, there is a 70-30 chance of getting anything you've ever wanted and falling endlessly. Or not. It's not like you would know if you were falling eternally if you would die on impact.

Just cross a line for the possibilities.

I decided to take the chance, in my groggy apathy.

Now, here I am.

In a silent hell of deliberation.

The 'sky' is white and boring, the 'ground' is flat and plasticky, and the 'path' ahead could either be nothing or everything.

A clock in my head is tik, tok, ticking, and a wall behind me is emphatically edging me closer to the edge.

***

When I first got here, I was so confused. I searched my memories, backed up from the fall, and came up with only those deceiving words. It felt like my organs fell through the black hole that I am currently concealing behind my hoodie, but my heart is still operating as an anxious bass to this horror movie soundtrack, so my stomach must be somewhere in there too—along with my lungs. Though, with my wheezing, I wouldn't be surprised if I lost at least one of them by now.

I have pasted myself to the only definitive end that this space has. Everything forward is hidden by pockets of moist fog, and I suspect my blindness. A perennial blur.

20/20 vision is useless when you can't see shit with your own mind's eye.

I can't tell how long I've been here, but however long it was; I am running out of time now. The odds are in my favor, but I can't make myself wings if I end up falling.

It would be so much easier to just leave, but I can't do that now. Too much to want, yet too much to lose.

I have tried toeing the fog, to see if I'd fall through, but my entire leg goes numb when I try.

I can't see it either, so it's like it got amputated.

I scan the distance between the smog and the soon-to-be-protruding wall, and I think I only have a few minutes left. Should I leap, or be pushed to it?

Am I brave enough for the former? Will I survive to see the outcome of either?

Some great omnipresent screech and push of rusty mechanisms echo throughout the dimension, and the wall jerks forward.

I am not propelled completely into the mist, but I am less than a minute from reaching it.

The wall is moving faster, more insistently.

My old sneakers are squealing against the pristine floors in protest. I am scrambling, contorting myself to just breathe a few moments longer.

My fear wants to paralyze me, but I don't have that luxury anymore.

Tears are flowing down my cheeks, and I am screaming. Frantically. No one is here but me.

I try hitting the wall, but I only break my fists.

I try staying away, but the distance gets eaten.

I am trying to climb, but there is nothing I can hold onto. I knew that this would happen, but I don't quite care.

I gasp, and I sheath myself in a haze.

***

Will I find my way out?