The noise is deafening. It sounds as if an army of millions wearing steel-shod boots marches inside my head. All other noise is silenced before the waterfall's majestic din.

I hear another sound. The creaking of an old bridge, soft, but at the same time its import renders its sound as loud as a fire klaxson. The rail supporting me gives way and I find myself bent forward so that I lie prostrate with my feet barely grazing the edge of the cliff. I think that I can actually see death glaring at me from within the water, his laugh chills me to the bone. There is no hope of scrambling to safety.

"This is it," I think, as the rail breaks off completely, "I am going to die." My head spins as I plummet into oblivion. i can't scream, can't think. I fell that I am in a dream, flying. My heart has stopped and the air rushes around me at a terrifying rate. I start to lose consciousness and my last thoughts from slowly. "I've screwed up for the last time, now I'm really going to die." I let a scream escape my lips, an unintelligible, animal growl as my neck breaks on the water below.

Karl Robinson
from Logan High School's literary magazine, Phonetic Renaissance
Spring 1998