Pressure

He stands before the mindless minions as they chant their chorus: 

                         "Jump. 
                                      Jump! 
                                                  Jump!"

The searing spotlight locks upon him.  A new target.  They push their collective will like a steady pulse with the force of a tidal wave.  A blanket of shame intensifies the heat under his collar and mutes the warning protests in his head.  The demon, Pride, lends his muscle to the fight, intent on mangling reason with derision.

Passing signs that clearly state --DANGER.  ROCKS BELOW-- he draws closer to the jagged edge where he'd watched the others leap, one by one; a forced yell of defiance lingering in the empty space where they safely stood just moments ago.  He peers down at the menacing water, its rocky depths unknown, and he finds a slow growing desire to be swallowed into that cold darkness, if only to find relief from the burning, blinding pressure of the spotlight.

That desire quickly becomes a decision that floods his mind like liquid Novocaine; numbing his conscience and paralysing his judgement.  His eyes lose focus, his jaw goes slack, and stepping in tempo with his frantically racing heart, he breaks into an aggressive sprint and throws himself over the side.

The force that pulls him downward is an unbreakable law of nature.  The thin fabric of the clothing that protects him pops angrily against his skin, mocking it's purpose.  His helpless body cuts viciously through the air, which seems to thicken as he nears the ground.

The ground.

A reality so far from his mind when he chose to jump.  A truth that just moments before had been merely an abstract possibility is now the only reality left to him.  The end of life as he knows it.
The end of life...
The end...