Rochelle sets us a one hundred word, flash fiction challenge, prompted by a photo, each week. Why not give it a try?
Someone will bounce it into the conversation; immediately, there’s tightening in my throat. My heartbeat probably hasn’t changed but suddenly, I’m aware of it. There’s slight nausea and I feel leery. By the time anyone else has picked up on the idea, my mind’s in hyperbole: reasons why we shouldn’t climb the hill or, if they do, reasons I shouldn’t accompany them.
Fear is a strange thing. I’m scared of appearing cowardly and making a fool of myself. The fear of being scared is as bad as the fear itself. But what I can’t explain to anyone; it’s not a fear of falling that drives me, but all-consuming terror that I’ll jump.