His head breaks the surface, barely allowing him to suck down a quick breath before the current pulls him under again. The roar of the water and the surging rapids blocking all his senses, preventing him from determining how far he's come. Underneath, the water is quiet, the noise from the surface is muted.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be a simple hike, one he's done many times before with no issues. This time, however, the hand rail on the wooden bridge over the river happened to snap when he paused to take in the view. It was the same spot he's stopped at a dozen times over the summer, every week in order to take a picture of the valley.
It was for a book he was preparing, a combination of photographs and historical documents detailing the shrinking natural habitats to make way for industry and infrastructure. You know, progress. The book was to be a reminder of what we're losing, and maybe prompt people to push for more conservation.
His head breaks the surface again, but he's back under before he could get more air. His lungs are starting to burn as the current tosses him around, disorienting him, arms reaching out for something to hold onto.
Suddenly, he slams into a submerged boulder, his arm breaking under the force of impact. The crash managed to slow him down enough use the next rock to find his way to the surface, but it's covered in algae and hard to hold onto.
Seconds later he's back on his way down river, but he's reached a clear section, so the ride is smoother and he's not being pulled under. That also means there's less in the way of the flow, causing the current to pick up speed.
He's finally able to get his bearings, and that's when things get worse. He's travelled further than he originally thought, and is dangerously close to the edge of the waterfall. A fifty foot drop down to a basin, sparsely occupied by large boulders broken off the edge of the falls over the centuries.
As the edge comes closer, he realizes that between the speed of the water flow and only having one good arm, there's no way he'll make it to the river bank. His only hope is to aim for the one 15 foot spot void of any obstruction, where he could have enough space to survive the fall.
A few seconds before he hits the edge, he wonders what went through the minds of all those daredevils in their barrels as they went over Niagara Falls, and if they felt the combination of blind fear and total calm he was feeling at that moment.
A feeling of connection to everything.
And then nothing.
