(Kind Of) Cliff Crisis
Dadaism stood far above where anyone could reach him, swaying dangerously in the sudden and violent winds that rose up from the canyon below. Pragmatism had given up, Geology had wandered off, but Surrealism anxiously watched his unstable mentor. Existentialism walked up behind him, laying a bracing hand on his shoulder.
“He’ll come down,” Existentialism said, “Stop worrying so much. At the end of the day, he’ll be fine and you’ll have an ulcer.”
Surrealism nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat and walking away. Sure now that he was alone, Existentialism walked directly up to the perilously perched Dadaism and shoved him, one-handed, back onto safe ground. Dadaism laughed and glared in succession.
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