Impulse Control
A New Artwork Release & Story
I walk to the rocky precipice overlooking the river below. The vacant railroad tracks weave through the valley, flanking the flowing water. All it would take is a large step forward, or a leap, to rid myself of earthly pain and possessions. My brain signals a fear of heights to my entire body, and my legs react with a tremble. Just one, simple, step forward—hovering over the abyss. I’m seduced by the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, and the thought of floating high above the jagged rocks below. The aspens are young enough to still be a lush green, flourishing from the melted snow pack that was once settled under my feet just a few months ago. My hair tickles my forehead and I quickly wipe it to the side. I pick up and toss a small rock over the edge and count the seconds it takes to hit the bottom. I’m not even sure I hear it land, my hearing has been poor since childhood. I’m unable to do the necessary calculations to get an exact height, however it matters none. I’ve never been good at math and I need not be to know the outcome. The desire to unbind myself from the ledge, and life, is powerful, like when you heat up a pan on a stove and, disturbingly, want to touch it. If I jump, it feels imperative or forced. If I merely fall, it feels uncomplicated, easy. It is the consequence of doing so is the crux.
