Well, in the end, it makes sense to die in the same place where my parents did.
I've come full circle.
Surviving was the mistake. I should've died too, that June day, twenty years ago.
My hand reaches into the void toward the rock face that keeps drifting farther away.
My rope's snapped. I should've paid more attention to the wear.
Should've replaced it earlier.
There were so many things I should've done earlier.
A hollow, bitter taste—like lemon rind—fills my mouth.
And just like in a cliché movie, the slow-mo reel of my life—or at least the parts I can still recall—plays before my eyes.
My last Spritz* with Romina, my best friend. Her blunt, lively way of telling me things, the banter. Her contagious smile, carefree and effortless, is the complete opposite of mine.
She teases me, laughs, and says I should confess to Enrico, my climbing instructor. That being a fanboy from afar is lame.
I never told Romina how grateful I was for her friendship, nor did I tell Enrico about my feelings.
I see again my first day at work, clueless about how my creativity would be ground down by a soulless graphic-design office job.
What a waste of time.
I regret letting myself get crushed by my own excuses, just to avoid stepping out of my comfort zone. I should've quit.
Then I see my uncle Bruno. The man who's taken care of me all these years. I never told him how deeply grateful I am.
Ahhh! It pisses me off so much. I'm such an idiot. What's the point of realising all this now?
I'm leaving behind a life full of regrets.
Not a single happy moment comes to mind—until, suddenly, a childhood memory surfaces.
I can't quite make sense of it. There's a child, maybe a little girl—I can't bring their face into focus. Who is it?
All I catch are the details around them: butterflies everywhere, and a crown of flowers resting on their head.
We're running barefoot through a meadow, somewhere I can't place. For a moment, I feel happy, like I'm under a spell.
But I'm dropping faster, closer to the ground.
Screams reach me, muffled and distant, while a dull buzzing fills my ears.
Then a stab of pain—and the idyllic scene gets overwritten by the terrible moments of my parents' death.
The three of us, on top of Rocca Pendice**. I don't know how we got there, but suddenly everything goes pitch black.
Mom, Dad, and I are hurled off the cliff.
I don't know how it's possible, but I survived that fall long enough to see their broken bodies beside me before I blacked out.
I should've been crushed that day, too. It was only a matter of time.
I close my eyes.
This is it.
Just a couple more meters and it'll all be over.
A shame, though.
Three meters.
Two.
BAM!
I slam into something—but not the hard ground I was expecting.
It's soft. Warm. Still, my body jerks violently, like it's been plunged into ice water.
My eyes snap open.
A sharp face. Almond-shaped, rose-colored eyes. Pale skin.
Hair so blond it's almost green, glacial.
Two strong arms lock around my back.
A stunning stranger has intercepted my fall. He's holding me tight, staring straight into me, breathless.
*Spritz: A popular Italian aperitif, typically made with prosecco, a bitter liqueur such as Aperol or Campari, and a splash of soda water. Often enjoyed in the late afternoon or early evening, especially in northern Italy.
**Rocca Pendice: A mountain in the Colli Euganei near Padua, famous for its natural trachyte rock formations and popular climbing routes.