Bungee Jumping

Bungee Jumping
It all began with a fascination of bungee jumping, the most extremely exciting entertainment sport in the world; probably because in bungee jumping there are only two possible outcomes, survival or death. I had recently won a trip to Queenstown and was eagerly anticipating the major event of bungee jumping.
Once I arrived there, I dragged my best friend to join the list of crazy guys who love bungee jumping. I was very proud to show him I dared to jump but he did not, but as the lift took me higher, I noticed with increasing alarm the sounds from the ground far below were now becoming muffled; the crowd distant. I began to breathe rapidly and sweat like an overstuffed pig in a sauna whilst my thoughts raced away quicker than a missed bus. I began to wonder if this was a badge of stupidity rather than courage.
“Is this elastic really going to stop me plummeting to my doom?”
My initial bungee jump as a rookie was not above the ocean as expected, but over a crowded concrete and surprisingly solid parking lot. Here I was about to dive head first two hundred feet down into what must surely be oblivion and here I was, worrying if I might hit somebody’s car.
“On the count of three, dive!” instructed one of the burly construction workers in the crane.
I clung on to the beam (that I was supposed to dive off) like a drowning swimmer.
“You’re… You’re certain this thing will hold?” I stuttered nervously, glancing at the thin rubbery cord.
I looked down at the crowd who were gathered like ants around a fresh carcass. Some of those distant dots had dared me to take this leap of faith.
I gazed at the large dizzying emptiness between me and the concrete, while trying (and failing) to inconspicuously pry my deadened hands from the metal beam, then deciding I’d actually rather die than have to face the shame of coming back down again in the lift after having so freely expressed my fear. So with a melodramatic internal “Goodbye cruel world,” I...