Chapter 1: Azrael- The Angel of Death So close. My toes dangle precariously over the slightly worn-out edge of the stone bridge. Amidst my impending doom, my defective brain couldn't help but notice the fucked-up metaphor I was blankly staring at: Worn-out and breaking, a step from crumbling down, just like me. It seemed like an inappropriate time for the sarcastic, monotonous Ha-ha I would've normally done so I attempted to shut my brain down, succumbed to the temptation of allowing my eyelids to gently slide shut and let myself drift. I often did this whenever I felt the dreaded oncoming of a mental breakdown. During these moments, I liked to imagine myself floating upwards, breaking free from the suffocating restraints life enjoyed keeping me trapped me in. I would fly with no wings, doing the impossible and leaving all my worries and troubles behind. And the worst part of all this was that there was no particular hatred in this. Just tiredness and the sense of surrender. My shoulder blades were literally aching so much from the pain bearing down above them that there was no possibility of ever growing wings to guide me out of this distorted maze. Because I had to deal with waking up one day only to find my world so fucking upside-down that I had to physically force myself to keep from having an out-right panic attack there and then. (Therapists are like the clowns of my world) Suddenly, all these big expectations and responsibilities were thrown upon me so abruptly I felt myself chocking on the water I was being dragged under. I was in limbo as far as I was concerned and my body went on auto-pilot mode, at school, at home. The only time I felt even slightly free was in my dreams when I could just, drift. I haven't even seen graduation day yet. My fragile mind fragmented under the pressure and I just broke. You can't possibly fathom how that felt for a 16 year old. The panic attacks started occurring daily and it got so bad that my dad suggested going to see a therapist. Now, I use the term 'suggested' extremely lightly here because I knew he would resort to painstaking measures, the mildest being him hauling me over there himself if he had too. So I broke. And here I am. On the edge. Literally. I clench my fists tightly until the stretched skin of my knuckles turned porcelain white. I blinked. The trembling increased and travelled all throughout my arms and shoulders. Calm. I am calm. Drift. I inhale the agonisingly cold air into my lungs— Physical pain is my distraction Calm. Drift. Slowly, as if I was underwater-the waves pushing me until all sense of direction were non-existent, I lift my extended arms to either side of me and imagine the pair of beautiful, glorious white angel wings behind me. In that moment, I can truly say that I felt free. Free. What a wonderfully, impossible word. And in that moment, I made the only decision I had made for myself this past year… and fell. A/N: Also available on fictionpress under the same title.