I don’t know how I ended up here, but I’m standing at the edge of the cliff.


    My right toe hovers over nothing, just a breath away from the drop.


    I don’t want to jump.


    But I think I will.


    There’s a name for this, I remember reading about it once—those thoughts you can’t shake, the ones that whisper harm, even when you don’t mean to listen.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    When did I study psychology? Did I ever? The memory feels borrowed, like it belongs to someone else.


    I look down, expecting to see waves crashing against jagged rocks. But there’s no ocean.


    Far below, there’s only blurred, grey earth—silent and endless. And in the emptiness between, I hear them.


    Spirits, calling my name.


    Their voices rise, soft and steady, promising relief. They want to save me—from the weight of staying, the ache of surviving.


    So I do the only thing that makes sense.


    I leap.


    Like a stone, I fall into their waiting arms.