I’m standing on a cliff edge, looking down. The wind whips about my face, stinging my eyes. That’s why there are tears. The drop seems infinite, but I can see the bottom, I can see the bones. I shudder and look up, best not to think about skeletons now. Across the chasm are meadows and woods. I almost remember being there once, or maybe this side used to be more like that.
I step back. And again. Then several more times until I’m far enough from the edge that I have room to get up to speed. My feet pound the ground, I’m at the edge, I take one last step and then, weightless. The meadows call me but I start to drop. The skeletons are rushing up. They’re not all bones though, some are still wrapped in flesh.
I can see a face.
They’re all mine.