. . . and saw, and saw. The sky. The horizon. The brink of the canyon. The cliff’s vertical veined walls—flashing past, yet somehow in slow motion. He, too was falling!

This was not supposed to be. The game was to come as close to the edge as they’d dared, but never too close. The tales told of the canyon’s depth and darkness kept sensible people away. How could he have made such a mistake? Had he stepped off the ledge backwards?

It didn’t matter now. He watched with detached interest as The River, a stream really, but people called it that, grew towards him. Suddenly, he was hit by a realization. . .