I am an adventurer. I like going to the most extreme places on Earth, and
participating in the most extreme sports. I kayak on rapids, and run
marathons, and even learned how to dance fight. That last one wasn’t
especially dangerous, but it wasn’t sitting at home on your couch either,
let me tell you that. I’ve climbed the highest mountains, and dove the
deepest oceans. If I’m not risking my life, I’m not happy. I can’t say how
many times I’ve been seconds or centimeters away from death, but I like to
tell people that that is my comfort zone. One day, I thought it could
eventually get me, but if the story is crazy enough, my legacy will live on
without me. Until then, living on the edge makes me feel alive, and I
wouldn’t give it up for anything. That’s why I’m so disappointed in myself
right now. I did all these things, and expected to die from something
amazing, but that’s not what’s happening. It’s so boring, and pathetic, and
embarrassing. I would say I’ll never get over it, but that’s an
understatement, because this is it. Someone is going to find me like this,
and that will be my entire story. They won’t talk about the time I ran with
the bulls, or when I swung over the streets like a certain red and blue
costumed hero, from one building to another. That one landed me in jail, and
it was my proudest moment. My fan base grew, like, a thousand percent that
day. I can’t bear to lose them. I know—again—I’ll be dead anyway, but that
shouldn’t mean they all start making fun of me. They should continue to
watch my stuff, and talk about me. They should flip off their mothers once
she closes the door behind her after scolding them for watching those dumb
videos. They should aspire to be me no matter what.
I slipped in the shower, how pitiful is that? I was just trying to step out
when I lost my balance, and knocked my head against the porcelain. I don’t
mind dying, but not like this, dammit! I struggle to grab my phone from the
vanity. It falls right into the toilet. I didn’t bother buying something
rugged or waterproof, because I’m not about that virtual life. I live in the
moment, in the real world. It’s dead, and I don’t have any other way of
reaching out for help, which means the end is near, and there’s nothing I
can do to stop it. But maybe I can make it a little better. Maybe I can die
as I lived, like a freakin’ badass that people look up to. I turn the water
back on, and shove the blood down the drain, but it just keeps leaking from
my head. But it has to stop at some point, right? No one can know that it
started here, or the ruse won’t work. It’s still coming? Seriously!? This
isn’t fair! I’ll wrap a towel around it to keep it from dripping on the
floors. Must. Get. To. The. Window. This is gonna work. It’s a foolproof
plan. They’re gonna find me on the pavement, and they won’t know why I did
it, but they’ll call me a hero. Because I am a hero. I crawl across the
tiles, onto the hardwood floors of the hallway, and then onto the carpet of
the guest bedroom. Some blood does drip from the towel, so I wipe it up with
my hand, and keep going. Yeah, I’m not leavin’ a trail. This is definitely
gonna work. It’s getting harder to move, but it’s not much farther now.
Damn, the window is locked, and I’m getting woozy. I don’t think I can
figure out how to open the latch in this state. It’s too complicated. Why do
they make windows so complicated? That’s all right. Better even. Going
through the glass will just make me look awesomer. I get to my feet, and
slam my head against it. It cracks, but doesn’t shatter. I strike it again.
It breaks, but not all the way. One more time...and I’m free. Oh, wait, no.
I live on the first floor.
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