Sunday, November 9, 2008

B.F. - Falling

And here I was again, on top of the world.

My favorite place to be.

The air up here is so cold, and the wind whips furiously against my back, threatening to push me over and into the sky. I shiver. The cold concrete and metal of the scraper's edge pushes into my thighs while the rest of my legs dangle over the edge. The juxtaposition of my small feet so large against the background of the city tops, the city floors, give me a chilling feeling of nonexistence.

Does anyone ever look up?

It seems a hopeless cause. The sky is dimming, and I can barely see a soul around. Would I be able to, even if there was one? I am so high up. Any person walking around would be no more than a speck to my eyes.

Another gust blows through me, piercing my bones despite the protective layers of outerwear I have on. My numbing hands grip the edge harder. I imagine my knuckles are white underneath the gloves. I should probably move away; doubtless my little body would be strewn about the pipes, ladders, and rafters most horrifically, without ever touching the ground, should I lose my hold.

Somehow, though, I want to let go.

The tip over seems so slight and easy. I feel insignificant enough to be carried by the wind. I've always wanted to fly, to soar over tops of buildings, to jump off cliffs only to come to a breathtakingly sudden halt just before being engulfed by the sea.

My fingers flex while I watch the empty bottom, metal webs waiting to catch me.

A slight shift of weight, that's all it takes.

After all, falling is the same as flying, only maybe with less control.


I don't do it. Shivering, I walk through empty, gray streets, where every step presses back firmly against my feet. I want to cry. I always knew it was impossible, of course. Flying is for hollow bones and feathered wings, for the thin film of those petals beating against strong backs. I have not slept for days, and my weary mind must have had delusions of grandeur.

The chill blows straight through me, and I feel my legs giving way.

"Well," I tell myself, breathing out a little cloud of moist air. I guess it's okay now.

It has to be okay, because now I fall.

A short distance of five feet while my knees crumple and where my feet never leave the ground.

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