Nevada's Fall

I stand here on the edge of Nevada Falls, gazing down into watery oblivion. My hands grip the cold iron railing, somewhat fearful of falling, but too altogethere amazed at the power before me to step back.

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