Narrative

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James 1
Having this fear of heights it causes his legs to shake his head to hurt and his knees to tremble. Body breaking out in a cold sweat he starts to think why is he up there. He starts jabbering to anyone who is nearby. As thoughts of certain death run through his mind, the world appears a precious, treasured place. He imagines his own funeral, then shrink back at the implications of where his thoughts are taking him. His stomach feels strange, and his palms are clammy. He is terrified of heights because the last time he was up this high he fell from a gun shot wound in Iraq. Of course, it’s not really a fear of being in a high place. Rather, it is the view of a long way to fall again, a firm wall between him and the edge. His sense of security is screamingly absent. There are no guardrails, flimsy though he pictures them, or other safety walls that he is used to. He can rely only on his own surefootedness—or lack thereof. He steps over to the edge of darkness that is to be most likely him facing his fear of the never-ending fall. Tied and rigged up to the tower using a middle of the rope double bowline he is ready to over come his fear of heights and falling 120ft. Thinking to himself rappel master school is not fun at all. As he turns to lower himself 90 degrees, feet on the tower, hands on the rope, right hand on the break side of the rope and left hand on the guide rope, he eases his break hand down to a forty-five degree angle looking over his right shoulder down to the ground. “Man that’s a long way down he says to himself” sweat beads forming on his brow. He can’t believe he is doing this to himself. As he locks the break hand in the small of his back his gazes at the ground still thinking to himself he is crazy for this. In a distance he can hear a voice calling to him to snap out of it, but he can’t tell where it’s coming from till he focuses on the reality of life that it’s coming from the instructor telling him to “look at him”. He turns his...
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