Have you ever stood at the end of a bridge? I teetered the edge of the world, it felt like. Like I was standing on a solitary pillar surrounded and violently licked by raging waters below a cascading abyss. The edge of the world, at my feet, and the rest of the universe.
I dug my feet into the rusty iron bridge. I melted and warped indentations to stay more secure as the brisk wind billowed around my body, rustling my messy hair. Soft beads of icy mist cast salt onto my clothes. It was refreshing. It was bliss. It was the perfect mix of excitement and quenching fulfillment.
I leaned forward. Just barely. Not enough to catch the mercy of gravity but enough to birth that rubbish, sinking feeling at the bottom of my gut. That feeling when you think the plane is going down in turbulence. Or when you see an unexplained flash in the sky. That feeling of wrong.
A strangely enjoyable feeling that tickled my heart. Goosebumps pushed through the layer of sweat, my ears rang while listening to the elements around.
All I had to do was go a bit further. The rubber in my shoes strained and the girder under my feet groaned until it seemed to bend.
I could hear my own breath. Deep in my ears. Long inhales, short exhales. No beating heart.
A tiny, insignificant shift in the universe sent me flying off the bridge, the lunar eclipse shined blood red high above. The whistling of the wind didn’t bother me. The coldness of wind and water combined didn’t jolt my senses. And my fear was never a factor.
The sweat was because I was anxious. The goosebumps were because of my anticipation. My tension disappeared even as adrenaline pumped faster and faster. Faster than the speed of light.
My eyes stayed open. The updraft of aqua soaked me fully through, and just when I was about to break the liquid surface.
My body corrected itself. My feet impacted the top of the water, letting loose one rippling wave. I curled my legs in joy. The rest of my body followed. A melody.
My body didn’t break anything. I stood completely dry and bobbed at the surface of the water.
Passing people would point. Others would pull their phones to record. Others would stare in disbelief, some in boats, some on the banks.
While a select few found a sign in my actions.
We aren’t human, and we’re here to stay.