Heights

I have a fear of heights. My fear is… quite recent and it’s only affected me now. I’m sure that by the end of my little story you’ll find my new found fear quite rational. When I was younger I would love to shimmy up trees or climb up small hills. I liked to explore outside a lot.

Nature was so… fascinating. It still is somewhat fascinating to me. I currently live in the city but I grew up on a few acres of land, not too far away from a small town. My parents let me play in the yard all that I wanted but they repeatedly warned me, time after time, to not leave the yard.

Regardless, I still liked to edge out of the yard and look about at the town in the distance. That was pretty much my entire childhood. As I entered my teens I started to grow out of my adventurous wanderlust for nature and focused more on school and the future. I was making plans to move to the city and get away from the country.

My parents… well… they weren’t too pleased with my plans. I think they hoped I would grow up to be a country girl, a farmer, some hick. I couldn’t blame them for wanting me to follow in the familiar footsteps of the locals but their incessant nagging was starting to get on my nerves.

That’s why, when I turned eighteen, I moved to the city. It was all I ever dreamed it to be. I got a nice house right near the journalism agency I worked for, taking pictures for the local newspaper. I still live in that house, though it’s not as nice as it once was.

One day, I came into the office after taking taking some nice scenery pictures. My boss was Mr. Jameson and I was pretty excited to show him those pictures. I think it sparked some sort of nostalgia in me. When I went to show him, however, he wasn’t there.

“Where’s Mr. Jameson,” I’d asked to no one in particular.

“Oh he’s home, sick,” Valery, the receptionist, had told me. “He said something about a respiratory infection.”

I’d slumped in disappointment. Mr. Jameson never missed work. Something must have been very wrong. I’d placed my photos on Valery’s desk and told her to give them to him when he got in.

Then I had headed home. I remember that when I got home that day I’d turned on the TV. It had been turned on to the news. The newscaster had been talking mindless dribble, something about some virus in some other part of the world.

Retrospectively, this was a lot more important than I’d thought back then. Once I’d changed into some more comfortable clothes I went to bed. The next day I’d woken up a few hours before work and decided to go walk about the city. As I’d left home I passed by a convenience store.

On a whim I’d went in. I had ended up buying a Cornetto. I’d always liked those. They were delicious. I don’t really eat much of those anymore though.

My tastes are quite… different now. But as I’d eaten it I remember seeing some… odd looking men on the sidewalk. They were walking a bit slow, which was quite noticeable in the busy throng of people. I had raised my eyebrow but gone on my way.

They seemed to be talking to each other, muttering something that I couldn’t hear. As I finished my ice cream I walked past an alleyway. However, I was stopped in my tracks by a frightening sight. A mugger was robbing a woman, a sharp, dark stained knife in one hand, the woman’s purse in the other.

My mouth opened and, with a sudden burst of courage I’d shouted. “Hey! You!”

The mugger spun around, letting go of the woman, who slumped down to the ground. He darted off and I chased after him. He came to the end of the alleyway, looked around frantically and, with nowhere else to go he started to climb up the fire escape to a tall building. I followed, running out of breath but determined.

The mugger was on the roof of the building, knife still in hand, blood splattered on his face. My sudden burst of courage was gone. I found myself backing up until I felt my foot slide back, off of the roof. I quickly regained my balance but it was too late.

Knife tightening in his hand, the mugger charged me. We both fell. Wind whistled at an alarming rate in my ears as the pain in my chest intensified. And then… there was nothing.

There was just black nothingness. I just recall waking up, knife still firmly stuck in my chest and the mugger nowhere in sight. I used a decent amount of strength to pull it out and stood. I wasn’t in pain. I didn’t feel anything at all which didn’t surprise me in the least, considering my current state.

Hunched over, blood still drying on my chest, wound open, I tried to make a noise, to cry out, to find someone. All that came out of my throat was a gurgled moan.