She stood alone at the top of the mountain, surrounded by a sea of bleached snow. Strings of evergreens lined the periphery of her sight, burrowing deep into the horizon. Falling, always falling, an incessant curtain of white.
The boundaries of direct-less space canvassed her sensory experience. Her mind was clear, empty of fear and hope, moving in stillness, at one with the icy precipitous vastness. At once she pushed forth, her body entrusted to the pull of gravity.
Downward. Sliding. Faster and faster. A solitary sail against the wind. One thought, her only point of reference ahead: nothing matters. She accelerated. Ten miles, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, fifty-three, fifty-six miles per hour. Her body — a disintegrating flash of light.
When you plummet disoriented into the abyss… are you floating?
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