There was a moment—it couldn’t have been more than a moment, although it felt more like an eternity than anything else—where I was suspended in air. It was as if nothing mattered in that moment, other than the air that was whooshing around me, and the fact that the force of gravity was making it difficult for me to breathe, even though I was desperately trying to do so.
It was one of those main character moments, the kind of moments that you only ever see on television or read in the novel from your favourite author. There was nothing that I would have been able to do to change the course of the story at that point in time, because the plot had already been laid out for me. I no longer had a choice in the matter.
I was nothing more than a puppet, in the hands of a puppeteer.
When my
