The White House

The White House- Chapter 8

Next Chapter :) Hmm, I am sorry for spelling and grammar.... I will go back and edit later on but in the meantime I have so much work to do it is not possible. I will probably finish the story and then sweep through later on. 

Hope you like the chapter.

Chapter 8

Focusing my eye on the small rollercoaster I felt my stomach groan. Even though the ride was designed for small children it still rose above the ground; anything that lifted two metres above my head terrified the crap out of me.

“I don’t think I can,” I whined, clinging onto Kasper for support.

“Come on, I will sit with you. This ride doesn’t do anything, but go up and down. There are no loops, steep drops. You just spin in circles along the track going up and down.”

“It is not the circles I am scared of, it’s the height.”

My eyes darted left and right in paranoia. I knew that I was maybe getting a bit over the top about it all, but you can’t help what you are scared of. Spiders, no, I could deal with them - even snakes. Heights were the only thing that scared the living daylights out of me.

It all started when I was eight and my father, mom and I went on holiday to an adventure resort. At the time I was like every other eight year old adrenaline junkie. I would jump off rocks into the foaming sea below, and balance on branches that scaled the tree line in the forest.

I have never been a person to peacefully accept what adults instruct me to do. Maybe I should have listened and not been brash when the instructor told me that the rope that was harnessed around my waist was not done up properly, and that if I slipped whilst making my way up the climbing wall I could seriously endanger myself. However, being a young child with a point to prove I ignored his warning, waiting till he was gone to start the climb. I was fine going up, boastful even. It surprises me even now how much children, myself especially, liked to assert their claim over authority. It made me a danger, a liability.

When my foot slipped on a crack halfway down and I fell to the ground,  my hysteria was astounding. Nothing broke that day, but I did come away bruised, mind and body. I wasn’t scared of heights just yet, my fear only igniting at that bruising activity. No, my fear was cast in stone a few days later when I witnessed a boy jump from the overhang of a waterfall. It was purely recreational, a sport. The waterfall was the height of a two story building, water impounding over the slippery moss covered stones. The boy who jumped was only trying to show off – a flip that was meant to land gracefully, sliding him under the murky water. What actually happened was a belly flop, the slap ricocheting loudly, bouncing off the surrounding rocky walls. He died later in hospital.

The two incidents scared me for life. Maybe it was the fact that they happened within a matter of days or maybe it was the sheer rarity of such a bizarre death. I am sure that if I had witnessed the two events at different times in my life I would have never come to the conclusion that being up high brought death and pain. My fear is impractical and irrational. But, once a small fear worms its way into your brain it is seems to grow like a crack getting deeper from the effects of constant erosion.

Yet, I was determined to prove to Kasper that I could overcome the phobia, so I took slow hesitant steps to the front of the queue.

The noise the ride made nearly put me off, a loud chugging metallic sound that rumbled destructively along its path.

Kasper seemed to notice my hesitation, his grip on my arm tightening, whether I felt enclosed or comforted I was not quite sure. I didn’t want to think that I felt comforted by Kasper’s arm, whether I was quaking in my shoes or not. The thought was too hard to comprehend so I decided that I felt enclosed. I didn’t let go of his arm however.