The Cliff – Essay

When on top of the cliffs, I cannot help but feel like a parasite, a flesh covered flea standing on the precipice of some rocky laceration.  The empty expanse standing before me is blood, and I feed from it, taking in every drop.  Seeing my classmates tromp around on the desert floor reaffirms my tiny existence.  From far enough away I suppose we all look like insects, but when you are trapped in the canyon (or on top of it for that matter) its impossible to be anything else, impossible not to be impossibly small.

– Colin.


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