F is for Failure

Feel it.
Feel the color drain from your face, the tips of your fingers, your lips. Feel your hands go cold like the touch of a dead man’s. Like a person in shock. Are you in shock? Feel your blood pressure drop through your shoes. Feel your knees buckle and sink to the floor. Your breathing. What is it doing? It’s perfectly calm. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in.
Your head. What’s going on in your head? How do you feel?
Rest your head in your hands. 
This is the floor of a parking garage. You are sitting on the floor of a parking garage. What floor are we on?
To your right, the tops of palm trees swaying.
Second. The second floor.
Where are you? What are you doing?
You’re up and walking. The railings are in your hands and they smell like iron. How do you feel?
Look at the bushes below. Pink and yellow flowers. Brown pebbles. Too close.
You can see the asphalt in the road.
You’ve picked your backpack up. It’s not heavy at all. You put it over your shoulder. How many floors does this building have?
You don’t know.
Where are the stairs?
You don’t know.
Where are you going?
Does anyone know where you are?
Why do you need your backpack?
You don’t.
The roof isn’t impressive. Only six floors up. It’s beige concrete and waist-high pillars.
Your hands come away black and dirty when you run it along their tops.
It’s not that you’re going to do it. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.
“I just wanted to see what it was like,” you think. “I just wanted to ..”
You don’t know what you wanted to do.
You can’t see the flowers anymore.

Photo by Bryan Minear on Unsplash



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