By Josiah Robb
If he was to do it, he would do it by jumping from a high place.
He’d bungie-jumped before.
Back in sunnier days.
Fear exists only on the ledge.
The fall is tranquil, you float on a cushion of air as the ground rises to meet you.
How is that not lovely?
But from where to jump?
Buildings were out of the question. As were bridges and overpasses.
A lonely ravine would be idyllic.
Not this—soaring over a concrete barrier, the car bonnet crumpling beneath him, grey water sprawling out below like a net.
This is gonna hurt.
Josiah Robb lives in the deep south of New Zealand. Between work on the farm and time with his young family, he writes!