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A streak of uncanny superstition informed me I wasn't heading towards the vicinity of Switzerland. After an abrupt, unforeseen surge of air violently slashed me off course my worry had only developed. Having constrained command over the vulnerable balloon and with gas devastatingly low, I could only diminish into the unforgiving, alpine valleys and cold-blooded, numbed lake beneath my very feet. A hell seeking lurch swayed the ripping gondola like a crippled, hopeful pterodactyl. The undergrowth was towing, heaving me in with the dim, wretched, thunderous chains of Satan. With the rope splitting to the wire, my heart vigorously thumping, my praying hope was that a soft bushy tree would break my plummet into darkness. My leathery sweat drenched hands mightily gripped the gondola for what seemed like an eternity until eventually the rope made a foretold snap and just moments later the darkness engulfed me.