There he stood, the man with no name. His hazel eyes hinted to the canyon right in front of him and desert to his back. He blinked feeling death's grasp get inches closer. What was he supposed to do? The lad could jump and fall to his certain death or face stinging of the sand. Anyway he went, it meant death. Short and painful or fast and easy.
It was his choice, not anyone elses. The choice would not affect anyone but only himself. He had felt this way before; alone and desperate, willing to end it all in a second. Turning his head slightly, a hawk caught his eye. It look majestically against the blue sky flapping its wings looking for prey.
As hard as he looked, it vanished, "A mirage," He just chuckled before sitting down. By sundown, his head was filled with more thoughts of destruction, but of life and all it's abundance. A smile spread across his scruffy face as he leapt off the cliff.
What happened next was sheer amazement. Wings shot out of the already ripped white shirt and started to flap. He wasn't falling at all, he was soaring. His shaggy hair danced as the wind flew past. 'The wind feels good,' he thought as he reminded himself that this was his choice.
 Van D. Bushin · Tue Jul 12, 2005 @ 01:43pm · 3 Comments |
