The Fall of Men

I watch as the man takes one step over the cliff and plummets toward the water like a small rag doll. Falling, his face tips peacefully toward the impending surface until he is parallel to the horizon, and yet I barely flinch as his entire body hits the water with a sickening thud. High above his girlfriend lets forth a piercing scream as the white skin of his shoulders and neck reappears at the surface of the water, his face hidden beneath the small waves.
Should I do something? Probably. I really should. I should do something right now. Probably. Should I stop thinking about this and get in the water? Probably. Probably probably probable.
But with growing apathy, I continue watching from my spot in the canoe. Why his friends dragged him to the top of an 80 foot cliff when he couldn't even manage to move himself on all fours is beyond me. Standing on shore just a few minutes ago as they made their way toward the cliff's base in their red dinghy, I told them. I told them no. I told them what a poor decision it was. I told them that they should leave him in the boat. I told them that they were making a mistake. I told them once, twice, again and again. And yet there they were, telling me to mind my own damn business as they dragged his inebriated body up the rocks and toward the looming danger.
And now here I am, sitting quietly in a canoe large enough to accommodate his body, sitting here quietly questioning what it is to be him, what it is to be me. Questioning his right to be. Maybe I should do something. Maybe I should wait until they've all committed murder. Maybe I should wait, wait here to act as a righteous witness to the death of a perhaps already dead man floating lifelessly in the water. Or maybe I should stop thinking about it, because someone is swimming toward him. It looks like this is everyone's lucky day thanks to someone's sympathy. Standing now in silence, I watch as that someone grabs the man, turns his face out of the water, and struggles back toward the bottom of the cliff with his pallid cargo in tow.
Casting my gaze back up toward the wailing woman beside the only tree on the cliff's lip, its branches hang perilously over the water, like fingers just having released their grip. Images of the man falling just beneath its gangling branches replay over and over again in my mind as they all call for help. And now, with some remaining humanity and the call of duty at my back, I leap again into the water and swim back toward the cliff's base.