The Precipice 

I sit in bed overcome by debilitating nausea. One hand resting 
on Rubyred, edging closer to me, his body anchoring me to my 
bed. A reminder I belong in the land of the living. 

I close my eyes. With my left hand I reach out to the branches of 
the trees swaying furiously, beckoning me.

I step into the precipice. Will the branches support me as I too 
now sway furiously?

I open my eyes, my roots delve deeper into the mattress. 
No longer on guard, Rubyred’s breath is slow and rhythmic. He 
gazes at Marmalade whom he adores.

Sleep descends upon my eyes. Longing to rest and sleep forever. 
Sleeping Beauty comes to mind. 

A brief sojourn in idle mode interrupted by the pungent smell of 
lemon oil burning.

I hear the sound of pitter patter in the distance. It brings me back 
to the here and now.

I remember my father in hospital, one hand strapped to his 
bed, held in situ. Robbed of all dignity. Dementia-his sole 
companion as he edges closer to the precipice.