Gambling/Lost: metaphor

I let my head fall back against the metal wall behind me. The pack strapped to me is filled with yards of cloth and rope, and it is smashed against the wall behind me, leaving an unpleasant gap between my head and the steel sheets I am leaning against. I glance around, taking in my surroundings in the wan red light. I’m in the cargo portion of a plane. I know the cockpit must be somewhere to my right or left, but I can’t tell which, because on either side I find only blank steel. I am sealed in. I’ve discovered that my backpack contains a parachute, one of the older models with no steering capability. Other than me, the cargo bay is empty, bare save for two things: two lights affixed to the wall, one green, one red. The cable that runs to these and supplies the power is cut, seemingly by a power saw of some type. The only other break in the continuous emptiness is the door. It’s situated next to the lights, and in the side of the plane. Just outside of its’ small window, I can see and sense a darkened world flying by. Clouds, dark and brooding, above, below, and all around cause a sense of vertigo. I cannot see the ground, I cannot see the moon or the stats. Only blackness. Taped to the wall next to the door is a note, the words coldly typed, devoid of humanity:1

“You have been given a parachute suitable to bring you to the ground. Outside of this door is roughly 1000 miles of jagged stone and shale, cliffs and chasms. A safe landing on this is impossible. There is only one safe landing zone, a 50x50 yard clearing that is somewhere out there. If you jump at the right time, and land in this clearing, you will survive. If you are off by even a minute, you will die. If you do not jump, this plane will slam into a mountain, and death is assured. Choose wisely, godspeed.”2

And that is all. I’ve scoured every inch of the bay, but there is nothing else. there is no way through the cold, hard walls. There is no clock, no timer, no jump signal to guide me. Just blind faith. For all I know, I’ve already missed the safe jump zone. Or perhaps not. Maybe I’m in it now, maybe I will be in ten minutes. There is no way to tell. I’ve hammered on the steel and screamed myself hoarse, but no one answers. No wiser voice offers counsel, no kind syllables bring hope of surety. It is only me. And so I’m sitting here on this bench, paralyzed. There is no certainty of success, nor any certainty of failure. Only cold hard odds, which say I’ll probably fail, probably meet my end on the rocks below. There is only one right choice, and 1000 bad ones. Only one safe spot, one sanctuary, and leagues of danger all around.3

So I shuffle to the door. One final check of the straps, the only real preparation I can make. The straps are tight, secure. They should be, I’ve check them well over a hundred times in the past few hours. As I near the door, I hear the endless, mindless droning of the engines. Fixed, never wavering, never faltering, no sign for me there. The flaps and slats on the wings remain in the same position they have been ever since I came to in this hellish box. The odds, it seems, have been fixed against me. Someone out there is betting against my survival of this trial. But I push all of these thoughts from my head. There’s no usefulness, no practical application for them. They are merely clutter to hold me back. And if there’s one thing I can’t have right now, it’s clutter. I cannot be held back, not now. And so I wrap my chilled fingers around the inhuman handle, and pull. Slowly it yields to me, as bolts and machinations force the door outward, break the vacuum seal. As the gaps appear, the sound hassles me. Wind gusts in and threatens to steal my balance, or pull me out before I’m ready. the sound of rushing wind and engine drone fills my ears, trying to blot out even my thoughts.4

It’s time, I decide.5

Or is it?6

Maybe now. 7

Maybe not.8

I’m paralyzed by indecision, fear of failure, of pain and death. I know there’s a chance I may survive. But the minuteness of that possibility steals the warmth from me, cements my limbs in place, seizes my brain and resolve and holds me in place.9

I have to jump, that much I know.
So it seems the only option I have is to mutter a prayer and hope it’s heard. I do this. And then, with sickening finality, I’m hurling myself forward. Even as my feet leave the solid steel, doubt twists at my stomach. I made the wrong choice. Oh God no, I made the wrong choice! I should have waited longer. No, I should have gone earlier. Five minutes, and I would survive this. I know, with certainty, that I’ve made the wrong choice. And then, just as certainly, I know I’ve made the right choice. And then it dawns on me, more terrifying than either option: I don’t know. I’ve just thrown myself and my life out the door, the most incredible gamble possible. I’ve staked it all on one guess, one impulse, one simple action in a sea of possibilities. 10

And now I’m falling. Still the clouds encircle me, still only darkness surrounds me. I don’t yet know if I made the right choice. 11

Will I ever?