Page 19 of Fallacies

The sigh I let out is audible and dramatic, more of a groan than anything.

The plank stretches out over the water, disappearing into the fog until I can’t see the end of it. But there’s nothing else here for me to use. No other way across.

I think I’d rather face another three-headed snake.

The step I take down to the plank is steady, but the foot I place on the wood is not. My hands tremble as I hold out my arms for balance, testing the strength of it with a decent amount of my weight. It bounces slightly as I press down, which is hardly reassuring.

Water crashes in a thunderous roar, violent enough that the plank groans and a cold spray hits my bare legs.

“Fuck my fucking life,” I mutter as I step out onto the plank. I do my best to keep my eyes forward, not daring to look down. I’ve never had a fear of heights, per se, but it’s more the balancing on a wooden plank that I can’t even see the end of that’s making my heart race.

What if it falls out from beneath me? What if someone is waiting on the other side to drop it?

I wobble, inhaling sharply as my stomach flips. By some miracle, I keep my balance. Exhaling a shaky breath, I force myself to keep moving. I count my steps like I used to count chips in the paint as a girl. Back then, I was keeping track of each terrible second in anticipation of Merrill splitting the lock on my bedroom door.

And now, it’s this—a fresh, new kind of hell. But the counting is a welcome distraction. It silences the part of my brain that’s fearful for its life.

I lift one shaky foot at a time, water roaring around me like an army of men on the front line, crashing into the rocks below like it’s the enemy.

I keep counting.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

Dread settles in my stomach when I realize I’m nearing where the plank disappears into the fog.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

Consistent with most of my decisions as of late, I rip off the bandage, stepping into the fog with confidence I don’t possess. It envelops me, sucking me straight into a cloud. I can still hear the water, but I can’t see anything more than a foot in front of me. I’m forced to look down; it’s the only way I can see my next step.

Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six⁠—

Wood creaks behind me, and I stop counting.

I can’t turn around; my legs won’t let me. But the hair on the back of my neck standing straight is a sensation I know all too well.

The wood groans again, beneath me this time. I narrow my eyes on my feet—on the edges of the plank—and as soon as I do, the creaking stops.

I stop breathing. I can’t move. And for some reason, I can’t bring myself to look away. The silence swells, water crashes⁠—

A hand shoots out from under the wood.

I scream, jumping forward before whoever it is can latch onto my ankle. In my frantic jolt, I nearly topple off the side and into the unforgiving current.

As soon as I find my balance, I whirl back, hand extended with fire at my fingertips.

But no one is there.

No one underneath the wood and no one on the plank behind me. Just the violent spray of water and more suffocating fog.

My heart is racing too fast to try and steady it now. I just need to get across. I just need this to be over.

I turn, taking my steps a little faster.

Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one.

The plank bows beneath my weight, and I try to focus on literally anything else. Anything but slipping.

Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four.