Norwood stood atop the escarpment and wondered exactly what the hell he was doing up here in the first place? I mean, seriously, he was an accountant from Duluth not some adrenaline junkie out to exchange the very real possibility of dying for the rush of feeling truly alive.
The ridiculous “Rocky the Flying Squirrel” jumpsuit they’d fitted him with was pinching and chafing him in places he wasn’t even sure should be so abraded and he was, reasonably, sure he was suffering a terminal case of chapped skin.
He inched a bit closer to the crumbling edge and had just about decided this was beyond insane when his woeful lack of athleticism combined with his abysmal sense of balance to send him tumbling off into space.
This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction prompt: limitless.