Today is the day. Today is the day, I, the Ruler of the Playground, will accomplish the biggest feat known to man: climb the tower from the outside. That’s right, you heard me. Today, I will climb the ginormous playground without using the stairs from the inside or the ladder from the nearby structure.

My classmates stare at me with anticipation. Some think I’ll chicken out, some think I’m brave and courageous, and some think I’m completely out of my mind. Their whispers are unintelligible from where I stand, but I am certain some of them are saying, “Is he out of his mind? This is so dangerous!” I bet all the ladies are watching me in awe, too.

I call out to my classmates: “Are you ready to see the greatest thing ever? Are you ready to be bewildered?”

They cheer in a chorus of agreement and incoherent screams. As they should, of course. After all, this is indeed the scariest act one can do, much less an eight-year-old kid like me.

“Someone record me. I’m making history here.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Why is no one recording me? Get out a phone!” I demand.

A shy voice from the crowd speaks. “We don’t have phones. Our parents say we’re too young for them”

“Then someone time me! That’s the least you could do,” I bark back. “I bet I can do this in under a minute.”

The same agitating voice says, “We don’t have watches either.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and lean my head on my hand out of utter disappointment. “You’re an awful audience, but whatever. It’s time to conquer this.”

I stride to the playground and scope out the deadly structure. Its wooden legs must be the size of Mount Everest and the platforms I plan to snake my feet through look as weak as my classmates. It’s menacing. If my parents or teachers were here, they would restrain me from even getting close. This makes me even more excited.

And so my adventure begins. I run toward the tower at the speed of light and propel myself upwards to the first platform. I then crawl up the wall like a spider, using the windows as footholes.

“You’ve got this!” someone yells.

Of course I’ve got this. I’m amazing.

I get to the next platform and smile at my audience below. They look like ants from up here. I wave and turn my head to the sky. I’m halfway there.

I continue climbing but my limbs start to fatigue. I’m also breathing heavier–practically gasping for air–and my heart is thumping loudly in my chest, reverberating the rest of my body. My PE teacher once said something about how it’s more difficult to breathe on higher ground because of the lack of air pressure. This must be what they meant. My struggle to inhale and exhale air exhilarates me even more.

This is much more difficult than I anticipated. Ludicrously, I consider quitting and retreating, but my sheer determination and the cheer of my fans boost my resolve.

So I go on. Higher and higher and higher.

I probably look like I’m flying to my classmates. They’re so lucky to know someone as daring, cool, and strong as me.

When I take another glance to see the smiles on the audiences’ faces, the most unthinkable, unimaginable, and the most horrific thing happens: 

I slip.

First my right hand, then my left, and then my feet follow. My life flashes before my eyes as I fall from the great height and crash onto the wood chips on the ground.

How did this happen? I’m the Ruler of the Playground. This is impossible.

I failed.

I failed?

My back and head ache from the drop, but more importantly, my pride has been ruined. This tragic accident has shattered me.

My classmates gather around my wounded body. 

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this,” I cover my eyes with my arm as I sob. “I look so weak and incapable, the opposite of what I really am.”

“What?” someone asks. “What are you talking about?”

It’s funny how they pretend to disagree with me. Truly comical. 

I dismiss their question. “It seems the playground has bested me today, but I will vanquish this beast tomorrow!” I stand up, point to the playground, and yell. “You hear me? I will defeat you!”