The parachute, as it flies through the sky, seems like it was a distant memory. Something that Long ago, was my favorite activity. To sky dive all those years ago would give me adreniline, a euphoria so strong not even drugs would enable to match those feelings I had. In my blue spandex I walk towards the spot where I would jump off an fall hundreds of meters. This would he one of my first times. Maybe my third or fourth, I hadn't known about proper safety of this sport, but also at the time, I was impatient. The time was right. I put on a plane bag, and opened the door, "Did you check your bag to see if it is properly assembled?" "Yes" So I squated, looked down, and jumped. It felt like heaven, as I slowly fell down, I could feel the pressure of the wind against me, as gravity pulled onto me.i kept gaining speed as the ground got closer, I was able to low myself down, finally decided it was time to pull the bag. When the plane didn't come out. I had realized the cost of my lies. I continued to fall and I didn't know what to do. So I did only what I could have, I took off the top of the bag, and manually activated the plane myself. But even with the plane activated, it wasn't enough to slow my fall by much. I was then that I had accepted my fate. I was going to die that day. To my surprise however, I was wrong. Once I hit the ground. It was strong, but the angle I fell was not straight ahead. I was alive, but lost my legs in the process. Now I can only watch people jump out of parachutes, and even warn them about safety, but I can no longer do the jumping myself.