I stood on the edge of the building and let loose a laugh of pure melancholy. There was nowhere left for me to turn, and my pursuer stepped closer every second. His heavy breaths were those of a long-term smoker, and the smell of alcohol wafted from his clothes. His heavy combat boots thundered heavily on the cement roof, as if ticking off the seconds to my demise.

So, this is where it would end. I had never been to this building before, yet I had stood on this ledge thousands of times. Then, the clicking of bootfall stopped. I straightened to my full height and lifted my chin as I turned to face the large man who had chased me to the top of the six-story building. The back of my feet couldn't have been more than a foot away from the edge. I was hyper aware of my surroundings. Was it real this time? It was hard to tell.

I swallowed and closed my eyes tight.

This is the moment that had haunted me since I was born. My earliest memory. The moment I would die.

The first time the vision came was when I was five. I was playing with my sister in the vegetable garden in our back yard. We had started throwing dirt at each other and were sharing innocent laughter. I remember, I started to back up as my sister threw a wet heap of soil at my face. The attempted escape of the airborne assault only resulted in my tripping over my untied shoes. I didn't even know how to lace them properly. As my tiny body plummeted towards the ground my vision changed. I was no longer a foot away from the ground. It felt as though I were falling from the heavens, but their was a sidewalk was fast approaching below me. A dark figure loomed ominously over the ledge I must have fallen from. Just as I would have hit the ground my vision shifted back to reality. I was in the garden again. Naturally, I cried for mother, and she came. She assumed the retching sobs were caused from the bombardment of dirt, but she had no way of knowing the horror I had just experienced. At five years old I thought I had seen Hell.

From that day forward the vision never left me. It consumed my dreams, and not a night went by without visions of falling from the rooftop. Even in sleep there was no escape. Any time I felt depressed, or frightened, or nervous I would be ambushed with images of my body ripping through the air and pelting towards the unwelcoming ground below. Every time a single ounce of fear, or despair, or excitement filled my body unwanted images filled my head. Before long I had accepted the living nightmare as a punishment. I deserved it. I must have done something wrong. Soon, it consumed me.

As I got older I could see more than just the falling. I started to see a blur of stairs rushing past, and I could hear my own desperate pants that pushed my lungs to their limit. Later, I could see clouds gathering in the sky and felt the chill of the air. Eventually, I suffered through the entire agonizing scene of my death, helpless as it ripped through my mind.

I was standing on a busy street. There was a wind blowing and my scarf and coat were rustling wildly, snapping uncomfortably in the harsh weather. I began to stumble down the street, blinded by the furious gusts. People bumped into me and I started feeling overwhelmed. I pushed my way into the entrance of an alley to escape the wind and constant flow of eyes, mouths, and whispers.

I took a relieved breath and sank back against the brick wall of the alley. t was when I began to reorganize my flustered clothes that it truly began. The terror.

I heard a noise from farther down the alleyway. It seemed as if the far ends of the brick walls had faded and merged into a dark crypt, making it impossible to see into the cold darkness. The noises from within rang out loud and clear. A heaving breath... that of a long-term smoker. Eventually, A scruffy man in worn black leather emerged from the fear-inducing shadows. He tilted his head, eyes steaming over me in judgement. I had sparked his interest.

I knew this man, though we had never met. I remembered a silhouette crouching over the edge of a building, watching me fall to my death. This is the man who would kill me.

My whole body froze, and my heart began to hammer in my chest. I broke out in a cold sweat and a nervous lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow or breath. Then, the man took a step forward. I panicked, and a screech ripped through the soft lining of my throat. I turned on my heel and bolted out into the street. If I had paid attention I would have noticed something was missing, but instead I kept running, at full speed, away from the man. He had followed me, and began shouting. Taunting, beckoning,shouting. I couldn't understand a word he said.

I couldn't think clearly, I couldn't breathe, and my mind was running wild. I instinctively turned a corner and shoved my way into an unfamiliar building. I must have come in through a side door, because I was met by a chilled stairwell. The decaying cinder brick walls were foreboding, and the chipping white paint created an eerie sensation, but every primal urge propelled me forward. My body was not in my control. Its single goal was to escape the obvious danger.

The heavy metal at the bottom of the stairwell slammed behind me as I flew up the iron steps. For a moment I was safe. It was quite. Then, the door show open again, slamming against the wall below. They had followed me.

Realization hit hard as I raced up the stairs, my footsteps echoing off of the grimy metal steps and exploding into bombs of sound that filled the small room. Tears stung my eyes as I climbed higher. I was going up.

I finally saw a door with an exit sign above it, and I threw myself through it. I slammed the door behind me and forced my wight upon it. Hard breaths filled my aching lungs as I took a precious second to regain my breath. My eyes shut tight, but when they finally fluttered open I shouldn't have been surprised. I knew this roof well, and seeing it in reality somehow made me feel fulfilled. This was proof, right? It was proof that I wasn't insane all of my life.

I kept my back to the door as I studied the world around me, searching desperately for an escape. Then, the door behind me burst open, shoving me forward, stumbling near the edge of the roof.

Once I regained my footing I shivered uncontrollably. I could almost see over the edge. Part of me was hasty to look over, but I couldn't bear it. Instead, I spun around to look death in the face.

That is when I understood this was reality. It's where the horrific dreams ended, and my horrific death began.

The man took a step towards me.

"Stay away from me!" I called firmly, trying to hide the terror that sent tremors up my hands were tight fists that cut off blood flow, and my skin was a canvas for sweat to glide across. I shook my head, as if trying to shake away a bad dream.

The man spoke up.

"You dropped your wallet." He said roughly. At first the words didn't register, and we stood in tension-filled silence. Our strained breathes danced in unison across the empty space as my brain scurried to understand. After a long moment my hand went to my coat pocket. It was empty.

I looked up slowly, not risking a breath. There, in the man's calloused hand, was my wallet. I straightened again and felt an emptiness consume me. This couldn't be possible. This man, my killer, was evil. He was evil because he was supposed to kill me. But he didn't.

It clicked. The Hell my life had become... it was a lie.

I tilted my head and then felt a cold smile curl up my lips. Another silence enveloped the two of us, until I began to laugh.

"I did, didn't I?," I responded with a bubbly chuckle "I... I dropped my wallet..." The words were all rushing out in giggles of rising hysteria.

I shook as I slowly reached out and grabbed the battered leather rectangle that this man had tried to hard to get back to me. My mind was spinning so fast that I had to lay a hand on my chest just to remind myself to breathe. The man smiled uneasily, and so did I.

Behind me I felt the nothingness that was preventing me from falling back. A cold air tugged at my back, beckoning me to complete the unfinished job.

"Thank you," I whispered to the man, a baffled smile still lingering on my lips. I swallowed hard, and finally looked the man in the eyes. They were soft and kind. A single tear escaped me.

Then, I took a step back.

I felt the solid ground disappear beneath my feet, and my empty eyes stared forward, recognizing an ironic scene. My meant-to-be killer was reaching out for me, a frantic attempt to save me. Too late. All too late.

My hair blew up around my face, and I finally felt free. In the end, it was better that the man did not kill me. For so long I felt stuck, knowing exactly how I would leave this world. I didn't have a choice. But now I did.

I would hit the ground. I would no longer be haunted by the vision of my death. I would no longer see the inside of another mental hospital, or have another dysfunctional meeting with another uninterested therapist. My whole life had revolved around my death, and finally... at my hand... the pain would stop. It would all end.