Microfiction: Wobbly

Along the rim, they walked, and Charles became worried about his stability. His feet were not working well, and not landing well, and not going in the exact way he would have wanted them to do so.

Sasha walked alongside him and did not seem to notice his little stutters of motion. She simply handed him another drink, something she brought with her, and he took a sip of it. It wasn’t alcohol; it tasted like water.

A massive lightheadedness sent him teetering, falling into the side of the metal railing, and his upper body came too close to tipping over the side before he caught himself. He let out a little involuntary whimper of fear.

“Holy crap!” he then said, his heart hammering.

And then he heard what was not at all the sound he was expecting.


He tried to spin around, but he was already so close to the edge—it didn’t take much anymore. The drop was about two thousand feet, and ended in a surprisingly flat surface, way, way down.

Sasha leaned a safe distance out and tried to see the pool of blood that must have been forming, or already splattered out all over the place. She couldn’t see either though, it was too far down.

After a second, she took out her phone.

“Hey, it’s done. You want to get some mojitos?”

Special thanks to: Bob GerkinCollin PearmanDylan AlexanderJerry Banfield, and Michael The Comic Nerd. 

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