The Tightrope by Aubrey Lynch

I take a breath, looking at the piece of wire before me. Cautiously, I rest a foot on it. I stop breathing as the wire shakes and sigh in relief as it settles. I’m going to conquer this walk today. I set my other foot in front of the first. I feel as light as air as soon as I’m ready to take the next step forward, away from the safety of the windowsill. I glance down at the crowd. People are just starting to gather- merely a few passersby stopping to see what’s going on. I take my next step and glance at the ground. It too stares up at me, asking whether or not I’ll make it to the other side. But I will, and everyone will see. I take a few more steps, watching as my audience grows in size in a matter of minutes. Police are starting to arrive. I glare at the ground as I reach the point right in front of the middle section of the wire. I’ll cross. I’ll cross to prove that I can, that my family of tightrope-walkers can cross this stretch of wire. I look at the end, shrouded in a comforting darkness. I blink as a voice reaches my ears. An officer, no doubt, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. Whatever it is, it’s loud, but I’ll hear it later. Right now, I only have to reach the end of this tightrope. I look back to the windowsill at the end of the tightrope; that dark, welcoming entrance. I go to take another step forwards and the picture starts to turn sideways.