Plummer Cobb is a writer and communications consultant based in Arlington, Texas.

Vanishing Act

I'm fourteen stories up. It's going to be a long way down.

No one believed me. I can't imagine why, right? I mean, there's the minimal evidence, the unproven process, the inconclusive results, and of course, the question of what happens after the fact. Still, you'd think someone would at least have been interested enough to ask a few questions.

You know what they say. Put your money where your mouth is.

Behold, ladies and gentlemen, Fearless Freap, about to perform his amazing, stupendous, poorly conceived disappearing-reappearing act! And with a dubious ending, too!

I'm not sure why, but I prefer to do this without shoes. The foreign feel of the brick against the skin of my feet makes me realize I've never really been barefoot in the city.

I jump. I'm filled with the thrilling, anxiety- and adrenaline-laden, first-time-on-a-roller-coaster-ride feeling of my stomach being left somewhere behind on floor thirteen. The wind rushes past me, but then I realize I'm the one doing the rushing. I hit floor nine and begin to have second thoughts.

Yeah, it's a good time to have second thoughts when you're plunging balls-out at 70 miles an hour toward the pavement.

The ground and I rush to meet each other like lovers in a cheesy beach scene in a bad movie. All slow motion, soft focus, and tunnel vision. 

For a fraction of a fraction of a second, the asphalt is inches away from my face. 

Then it isn't.

Instantly, I'm standing several feet away from where I should have burst into a mash of blood and body parts. Nothing remains but my clothes, the memory of my fall, and my shadow. I've never figured out why, but the shadow always takes several seconds to dissipate.

I'm walking away, and naked now. Which is, of course, a bit conspicuous. Not too worried about that at this point.

Man, it feels good to be alive.

Quick Change Artist

Full Circle