Fine [Mood]

How many years since you found yourself

Staring at an endless sky?

Unaware of yourself

Who you are and where you're going...

The ice is still there, freezing, frozen.  Life goes on, passes by Alexander. People come, people go.  Some show concern that he’s a little quieter than he was, a little more distant.  A little colder.  They ask if he’s ok. 

I’m fine. 

They’ve made the effort and they’re let off the hook with the rather unenthusiastic answer.  Perhaps there’s an unvoiced sigh of relief.  But, really, would he be able to tell any of his colleagues what is really bothering him.  Or the little old lady in the flat next door?  The barista at his regular coffee stop?  At best, they wouldn’t understand.  At worst, those faceless men in black that he’d been warned about could come visiting. 

So he’s fine.

Alexander looks out and down.  The sky is blue and clear and endless from his vantage point.  There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet below.  Mountains leading to foothills leading to city leading to plains.  Not a cloud in the sky to spoil the view.  It’s breath-taking.  As is the cold wind at that height.  So much life going on down there.  People working and playing, loving, hurting, dying, being born.  Most in their own shared, sheltered view of the world.  Only seeing the surface, completely unaware of what’s going on below.  Or, on the rare occasion when they’re confronted with the unseen depths of the world, finding ways to rationalise and explain it away.

The deaths by the reservoir?  A popular theory is a serial killer, even though a cause of death couldn’t be really be found for the victims.  But there was that tip-off, wasn’t there?  That had to be the murderer, right?  Animal attacks?  Toxic fumes from chemical dumping nearby?  Conspiracy theories about experimentation in some black-ops lab buried away in the mountain somewhere?  If only they knew.

If they knew then something could be done about it.  But that’s just not going to happen.  So it’s down to those who do know to do something about it.

Those who can, or will, anyway.

He has doubts.  He has fears that he hasn’t talked to anyone about.  Will he hold back next time?  He doesn’t know.  Has no way of knowing until it happens. 

But he’s been afraid before, and it hasn’t stopped him.  He may have puked his guts up afterwards, but he didn’t freeze up. 

And it’s time now.

He shoves up and forwards, pushing himself off his perch.

And suddenly there’s nothing but him and the sky and the ground.  All the other thoughts he might have had stream away behind him.

Somewhere behind, a cord catches.  It pulls the parachute strapped to Alexander’s back out of its packaging.  With a breathtaking jerk his descent slows and gives him the opportunity to fly.

To be.

To feel again.  And there’s a biggest smile on Alexander’s face as he experiments with the controls on his parachute – turning, slowing before shooting off again at speed. 

He’s free.

...Only living

Only breathing

Losing all sense of time...