Clippings

With a shriek the sorceress fell into the pit. Snarling and blindly savaging, the grindlebeasts fell on her. The clan turned away in horror. The father stood from where he had fallen. He embraced his daughter as she stood on the edge of the pit half horrified at what she had just done. What had to be done.
"There isn't much time." He pulled her away from the edge. " We must get to the cliffs before the transformation is complete." As one, the clan turned for the mountains.

The feeling of being human began to ebb. He turned to see her brush away a furtive tear.
"Don't cry for me" he said. "I've caused you nothing but trouble. I'll never be able to repay you for what you have done."
"I would do it again. Sometimes I forget that you were not born a man. " She broke off, ashamed. "I sometimes wished we wouldn't find her."
He reached out a hand, even now losing form. Gently tipping her face up, he leaned down for one last kiss. "Somewhere in here," he whispered hoarsely pulling her hand to his chest, " so did I."
She turned her back as he removed the tunic she made him that first chilly night. It wasn't really necessary for modesty's sake, just for her heart's. Clutching the garment to her breast, she watched as he climbed the cliffs to a jutting ledge just above the group of people whom he had grown to love. Their journey had been difficult, dangerous, and suddenly too short. How does one say good-bye to someone you love as no other, even over your own desire to keep him with you.
The father stepped forward. She turned to him for comfort. "He doesn't belong to us, daughter."
"I know. It's for the best." Bravely she wiped her tears and stood tall and proud as her father joined him on the ledge.
"I'll pray you will find your family." the father said as he watched feathers grow.
"I will. Most managed to flee the mountains when the transformations started. They will return as the word spreads. You did a wonderful thing ridding the land of the evil one. My people will never forget you."
"And we will never forget you."
"Your shoes!" She cried, darting forward. In the emotion of the moment, they had forgotten to remove the human footwear. Claws were sprouting through the leather. Kneeling, she pulled his feet free. She set them off to the side, folding the sock neatly on top. With a cry, she ran down to the others, unable to face another good-bye. The father placed his hand on a changing shoulder. Words passed unsaid, then he was left alone. He gazed down on the family that had taken him in. Should he stay? Was it too late? A mounting panic shot through him. Was he doing the right thing? As he worried, a rising air current passed by.

He knew the time had come. Now that she was gone, nothing held him in this bare, cold city. He had lived in its cold embrace for too long. His body felt stiff, awkward as he climbed the stairs toward the roof. The moldering sheath he carried bumped against him rhythmically as he labored higher. He concentrated on the task, using it as an excuse to avoid thinking of her. It was a futile exercise; with each step, memories washed over him.

It was spring time, and he was sitting in the park studying the pigeons. He focused on the pattern of their feathers, and on the tiny motions they made in flight. He was sure that, if he concentrated hard enough, they would share their secrets with him. They had to. He was intently watching a fat gray pigeon waddle across the cold concrete when he became aware of the shadow. It stretched out next to his own, reaching toward the pigeon. Suddenly, the pigeons took flight, mocking his study as they gracefully flew away. The shadow gave a playful laugh, a sound reminiscent of a freshly melted brook. “I love to see the pigeons fly. When I watch them, I’m free, if only for a second.” And he loved her before he saw her face.

Now it was autumn, and leaves blew gently across the barren ground. He sketched the wing structure of a pale bird, attempting to capture its fragility and strength. The shadow was different now. Instead of standing, it sat next to him on the bench, merging with his. A baby’s soft cry broke the silence and the startled pigeons scattered, fleeing on the autumn breeze. And again he heard the laugh, “Your son longs for the freedom as much as you do.”

The harsh winter sun shone through the apartment window, but it lacked warmth. He looked at the shadows on the wall. His outline was dark, solid, but the other shadow was thin and faded. A pigeon landed on the ledge, claiming it as his own. His eyes rested on it, but he didn’t see it. A sharp cough from the bed alarmed the bird and it was quickly out of sight. The shadow spoke, softly and wistfully, “Soon I, too, will be free to fly like that.”

He opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped onto the roof. The sun struck his back, casting his shadow before him. It was dark, solid - and alone. He carefully lowered his burden to the roof, again using the motion to drive back the memories. He contemplated the sheath. It looked too small to encapsulate a lifetime of study. He slowly removed the apparatus. Thousands of gray feathers shimmered in the late afternoon sun. He strapped the wings to his back and moved toward the ledge. For the first time, he felt a twinge of uneasiness. His shadow stretched before him, distorted by folded wings. He carefully stepped onto the ledge.

“I understand the theory. I just don’t happen to agree with it,” Icarus said. “You say that it takes as much time, effort and money to make a big change as it does to make a little one. Fine, I accept that. But it seems to me that it also increases the risk to me when you do that. That’s the part I don’t like.”

Mr. Minos appeared to think for a moment before he answered. “With the increased risk comes a chance for greater glory, and isn’t that what you’re here for?” He held Icarus’ gaze until the younger man dropped his eyes away. Mr. Minos never lost at anything.

“Not greater glory, not really.” Icarus said. “I just want to be free to live my own life again. I want out and that’s the deal. If we succeed then I get out. Right?” He didn’t look Mr. Minos in the eyes, but he didn’t look down either. He knew how the game was played with Mr. Minos. He hoped he knew.

“You’re the best candidate we’ve got, Icarus, I don’t mind telling you that,” Mr. Minos said. “But we’ve never installed wings onto a human before so this is a risky business. You can have your record cleared, yes, but if we succeed today I can’t say that I’m just going to set you free right away. This is a process, not an event, you understand.”

Icarus looked out over the Nevada desert. The long drive in the darkened truck had left him unprepared for the stifling heat, the intense light, and the panoramic beauty. “I’m feeling overwhelmed,” he said. “I’ve been inside for so long, and I’m nervous about the test flight.” He stared off into the distance and thought about his wife, his children, his friends. He hadn’t seen any of them for over five years. Would any of them remember him after all this time, he wondered?

Mr. Minos watched him carefully and waited before he spoke again. “You will see them all again if we’re successful,” he said. “I just don’t want to deceive you into thinking that if all goes well today you’ll be back home tomorrow. Soon, perhaps, but not tomorrow.”

That’s when Icarus knew that they were never going to let him go. He would die here today if they failed, or he would be kept as a specimen to be observed, examined and tested. But he would never be allowed to go back to his life. He would never see those he loved again if he complied with Mr. Minos’ demands.

“I think we should just get on with it,” Icarus said, a little too loudly. “My nerves are going to get the best of me, otherwise.” He moved to the edge of the cliff.

Mr. Minos stood beside him. “You’ve done this a thousand times in the simulator. Just let your body take control and you’ll do fine,” he said.

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Minos. Just trust me.”

“Room service.”

Albert stood up, slightly alarmed. “You can’t but I can.” he whispered to himself as he opened the door.

“Good evening, sir.”

Albert peered at the man, squinting, as if giving him some sort of mental test. After an awkward moment he opened his eyes wide and shouted, “I don’t believe in you!” He paused to process his thoughts, then leaned in closer. “But I believe in bigger things. I have dreams…I believe in them…”

He slammed the door and happily galloped back to the bed, pausing only momentarily to clap and laugh about the encounter.

His countenance fell as he looked down at his hospital robe. He’d worn nothing but variations of the same robe for over three years now - since being admitted.

He had decided that morning that he would be confined no longer. He left the Institution and wandered the suburbs until he happened upon a hotel. He snuck into the room - now his room - as the tenant was leaving.

His lip quivered and he clenched his teeth as he pulled the robe off. “No more. No, no more.”

He stood naked by the balcony, shoes and socks in hand.

For a moment he was calm – almost sedated by the breeze. He felt free.

But he could feel the tension beginning to come on, creeping through his body and finally overtaking him. “I did, I can, and I will…” he spoke in a low, monotone voice.

He closed his eyes and sighed as the breeze won him over again.

“This is it. My time. I have everything, and I can. I can.” A smile canvassed his face as he slowly stepped out onto the balcony.

Carefully, he climbed onto the ledge, staying low. His body began to tense with fear as he studied the ground. He closed his eyes again, concentrating...fighting the anxiety.

Shunning the sanity, he let go of his shoes and slowly rose, now smiling again.

A small crowd was forming below. Albert could see them pointing and talking to one another.

The scream shattered his consciousness. It was a woman, terrified; he had to find her and help her. She screamed again, but this time he could place it, by his feet. She must be over the edge of the cliff!

He looked over the edge and saw her, desperately clinging to a small outcrop of stone. He threw himself down on his stomach and reached his arm down to her. "It's alright, I'm here to help." He looked down at her beautiful, tear-stained, fear-filled face. "Just reach up to me."

"John. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

He felt a shock of confusion. "How do you know my name? We don't know each other."

"I know you, John. I know your heart. I was so afraid to be alone. But now, I know that you will follow me." As she spoke, her face lost its fear and even the tearstains faded.

John tried to stretch his arm out further, "I don't understand. Let me help you."

"There's only one way to help me." She deliberately let go of her handhold.

"No!" John yelled in frustration and anguish.

Somehow, as she fell, her soft whisper floated up to him, "Come with me."

With a jerk, John woke up. It had only been a dream...

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

"John, buddy, what's going on?"

"Huh?" John looked bleary-eyed at his co-worker.

"Seriously, bud, you've been looking like a zombie for weeks now. It's me, Mike. You can tell me what's been happening."

"Dreams."

"What?"

"I've been having these...dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Well...there's this absolutely gorgeous woman, and I've never seen her before..."

"Ah," Mike nodded knowingly. "One of those dreams." This last was said with a leer.

"No. It's...well, when they started, she was in trouble. Falling off of a cliff. When I go to help her, she lets go."

"Eh...that's rough."

"But, as she falls, she asks me to join her, to come with her."

"Off the edge of a cliff?"

"Yes. More recently, I've been getting there earlier and earlier. We talk on the edge of the cliff, and I think I know where it is. She tells me how important my time here has been--"

"Your time here?"

"--but that it's time to move on and join her."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. This sounds weird John, really weird."

"I know."

"Maybe...maybe you ought to talk to someone about this."

"I'm talking to you."

"I mean maybe you should talk to a shrink."

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

John looked around at the area he had only seen in his dreams. "Well, I'm here."

He heard the voice that had become so familiar to him whisper, "Hello John."

"What now?" he asked shakily.

The breathy voice responded, "It is time to say good-bye to this place. Love it, love its people. But it is time to leave it."

The cavern was vast.

Shadows danced across the walls, flittering and jittering in twisted shapes backlighted by dancing flames of unknown origin. The temperature was a cosy 444 degrees Celsius – just hot enough to melt sulfur without getting too much into the gasphase to clog up the sinuses.

There was a rustling of wings being folded and a scraping of hooves as a horde of horned, thick-scaled denizens of the Nether Regions took their seats.

“I, Majox the inutterably archevilness call this 314159265th meeting of Angels Anonymous to order!“ boomed an old archfiend whose features seemed to have been carved from the eternal rock itself.

“Brothers and sister...”

He was interrupted by snorting and suppressed laughter from the assembled fiends.

Mo’hbb threw up her talons in disgust and hissed.

“What’s this brother and sister crap, Majox? Everyone knows that angels are androgynous!”

“Silence!” bellowed Majox, and little flames spurted from his nose.

“That’s why I said brothers and sisters!”

He settled back down.
“Now... we will hear the testimony of Pokos.”

A furtive demon stood up, clearly embarrassed to be presenting himself so openly to his fellow fiends.

“Hi, uhm... I am Pokos,” he hesitated briefly, “and I am a fallen angel.”

“Hello, Pokos,” came the echo from the assembled demons.
Pokos jerked involuntarily, and continued in a squeaky, insecure voice.

“I’ve been trying to mend my ways, you know, try to redeem myself. Ever since that day we were all kicked out of Heaven I’ve really tried and tried – but it’s so hard to be good!”

“That’s okay,” said Lev’che’ead, “we know how you feel.”

“I mean, everything is looking good and then – bam! I steer someone from the path of righteousness, I tempt them, I make them doubt!”

He rustled his wings sadly.
“Only yesterday I coded another set of peer-to-peer MP3 sharing tools!”

There was a commotion amongst the assemblage.
“Yessss?” hissed Majox in a dangerous tone of voice.

Xitor’ng’everci held up a tattered, leather-bound tome with a shaky hand.

“Actually, your very extremely honorable lordship, that’s not on the list of sins anymore.”

“Oh,” grumbled Majox with a raised eyebrow, “splendid. Pokos, continue.”

Pokos stuttered.
“Oh, well, great, hm? Anyway, I really think that if I set my mind to it and work really, really hard at redeeming myself in the eyes of you-know-who, the maybe there is a chance! I mean, there’s still one thing we have, right? Even after falling so low, right?”

There was an expectant silence. Pokos looked around desperately.

“You know... hope?”

In the silence that followed, one could have heard a pin drop (on the head of which an undefined number of angels could dance).

“Buahahaha!”

Amidst the ensuing raucous laughter, Pokos dejectedly folded his wings and slunk out of the great hall.

“Hey Toby, look at that freak,” Kenny whispered.

The kid that Kenny was pointing at was probably no more than eight or nine. He was sitting on the curb, drawing on the street with a piece of chalk; childish doodles very similar to one’s that Toby had drawn himself many times: Smiley faces, cartoon characters, random designs of his name (which apparently was Bruce). The scene could have been from a modern-day Norman Rockwell except for the blue-tinted scales that covered Bruce’s skin.

“Let’s have a little fun with him,” Kenny prodded.

“Nah.” Toby started drifting to the other side of the street. “I don’t feel like it right now.”

“Sure you do. “ Kenny picked up a rock from the road and flung it perfectly. It skidded right across one of the more artisticly-flaired ‘Bruce’s, causing the chalk to smear just enough to be hard to fix. “Awww, look. ‘Bruce’ is all messed up!”

Kenny cracked himself up. Toby just looked embarrassed. Bruce never flinched.

“What’s wrong, S-s-s-s-scaly? You got a forked tongue too?” Once Kenny got started, he was hard to stop.

“Let’s go,” Toby said. “He’s not gonna let you bother him and he’s not hurting anybody.”

Kenny didn’t even hear him. He grabbed Toby’s sleeve and started walking towards the kid, dragging Toby every step of the way. He finally stopped, his shadow lying right across Bruce’s art work.

“Did they have to spank you like a normal kid when you were born or did they just pull the egg shell pieces off of you?” Kenny was on a roll. Toby could see that it wasn’t going to get better and he turned and started to walk away.

Now Kenny had two targets. “You a freaking mutant lover, Toby?” Kenny kept his eyes on Bruce, but hurled his insults at Toby. “Does the sight of scales turn you on?”

Toby stopped in his tracks. “Leave him alone,” he whispered. “He didn’t choose this and neither did his parents. He’s got just as much right to be considered normal as you do, although that’s not saying much.” His voice started to pick up towards the end, but he still looked down at his feet as he kicked around some small pebbles.

Now Kenny turned. “Dang, you’re a freak too… having sympathy for a creature like that.” He pointed towards Bruce. “What’s wrong with you?”

Toby turned. Bruce was looking up now. His yellow, slitted eyes were starting to tear up.

“Nothing. I’m leaving.” Toby started to walk away hoping that Kenny would come with him. Suddenly, he knew Kenny was coming with him, or more directly, at him. He spun and with a force that could have been fueled with adrenaline, threw a punch that sent Kenny flying over Bruce.

Kenny lay in the yard behind Bruce, unmoving.

Toby began to run. He ran all the way down the street, through a yard and into the woods beyond. He kept running until he had topped small ridge.

Sarah kept careful watch over the man across the crowded room. She slowly made her way through the tangled mass of darkly clothed people, their sadness not her concern, until finally she was by his side.

Quiet tears overtook her as she stood before the polished mahogany coffin. Within laid the charred remains of her sister-in-law and two nieces. The casket was kept closed, for obvious reasons. Sarah would rather remember them as they were when she saw them last, a mere four days ago.

Tim’s wife, Carrie, so exuberant and always laughing, had stopped over on her way home from shopping, having bought Sarah the cutest purse as a thank you for baby-sitting the girls the night before.

The twins, Annie and Allie, were passed out in their car seats, chubby cheeks moved rhythmically while they sucked on pacifiers during peaceful slumber. Sarah peeked in the window and smiled at the cherubs she so adored.

Then it was a quick hug from Carrie, a laugh, a wave and they were gone.

The police report said the oil tanker ran the red light at speeds of fifty miles a hour. Carrie’s Explorer was instantly engulfed in a massive fireball, and there was no way anyone one would have ever survived. All that remained of Tim’s little family easily fit in the coffin beneath his fingertips.

Everyone’s concern now was on Tim, who, when hearing the news, had to be sedated for fear of him hurting himself in his anguish. He spoke not a single word after coming out of his drug induced sleep. But he was aware of what was going on, what had happened, and only communicated in nods, or tears. Everyone wondered what thoughts went through a man’s mind who had just lost everything that mattered to him.

Sarah covered Tim’s hand with her own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Tim, oh God, Tim…I am so, so sorry sweetie. Listen, don’t worry about the rest of this stuff. I will take care of everything, ok? “

Still getting no response, she queried, “Want me to drive you home now?”

He looked up finally, and whispered. “I think I’ll walk.”

He then turned, and walked away from his life, his heart now mere ashes and bones within a wooden box. Mourners parted for him to pass, trying to comfort him, but he saw no one, heard no one.

All that mattered to him now was saying good-bye to his family in his own way and he thought of no better place than Lawson Creek Bridge. It was where he proposed to Carrie a dozen years ago, and where she would show him the ultrasounds, again and again, of their medical miracle babies. They talked there, dreamed there, it was their special spot. Yes, he thought, perfect. His decision made, he walked onward, his zombie like steps becoming more purposeful, his heart beat wildly though feeling a little lighter.

For the first time since his life lost meaning, he smiled.

George Bailey was safe at home, surrounded by his family and friends. There was more than enough money already and it kept pouring in. It was Bedford Falls’ finest hour. The sound of the little bell on the Bailey’s Christmas tree carried farther than anyone in that happy place could imagine.

Clarence was alone. He was nervous and he was freezing. He sat far outside of town on a bluff in the dark. He was talking out loud, sometimes to himself and sometimes to Him. Mostly to himself. Clarence had been talking to himself for quite some time, so he was comfortable with it.

“I’ve waited so long for this and now I don’t know what to do. Why don’t they tell you how this works before you get your wings? If you’ve never had wings you don’t know how they work, do you?” he said. The answers to his questions always came to him in his head. “But this is terrifying! I don’t know why it is, but it’s terrifying. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like I’m going to die, now, is it?”

He sat on the edge of the bluff and looked off into the distance, thinking about how it had all come to pass. There was a deep, profound sense of satisfaction in the work of an angel. And now he was official. He was a full-fledged angel. It really was thrilling. There was no end to the number of good people who need help from time to time, so there would never be any shortage of work.

“Still, I can’t believe that this is what I’ll be doing from now on. There must be more. Perhaps the better you do you the higher you go. How else would Gabriel get his job?” The sense of immortality, freedom, and responsibility were an unbeatable combination. There seemed to be no limit to what he could experience in the future. It really was overwhelming. “I guess the thing to do is work on one thing at a time. After all, I really have got forever.”

Clarence lay his overcoat down on the ground. He took off his shoes and socks and stripped down to his nightshirt. He carefully folded his clothes and laid them on the coat. He was nervous but he was ready. How long had he waited for this moment? It seemed like centuries.

„May I help you, sir?“

Kenneth tore his eyes away from the wing he had been absentmindedly stroking. With difficulty he focused on the diminutive stature of the sales person that had crept up to him.

“Um...sorry?”

With a minimal effort, the sales person pasted an insincere smile onto his face.

“Ah, yes. The first set of wings. Always something special.”

He fingered the set of wings on display, which were approximately twice his height.

“This is actually last year’s model. Quite a bit of power for the wingspan-to-weight ratio. Look at this workmanship along the seams! Perfect overlapping of the primaries and the secondaries!“

The sales attendant noticed the puzzled look of his customer.

„Sorry, I forgot that this will be your first set of wings. You see right here,“ he pointed at the lower, outer part of the wing, „these are the primaries - that’s the main flight feathers. The secondaries are these smaller flight feathers on the upper part of the wings, right above the primaries.”

Kenneth caressed the transition line with a faraway look in his eyes.

The sales attendant smirked inadvertently. This was going to be an easy sale.

“We can get them grafted onto your shoulders under local anesthetic in a simple one hour operation. At the same time we would boost the shoulder and lower back musculature to accommodate the increased strain and power demands. Within a week or two you could start basic flight training.”

He paced around Kenneth’s back, prodding at muscles and using a grey simfit-tool to take measurements.

“So, what color do you want?”

“Pardon?”
Kenneth was jolted out of his reverie.

“What color do you want? They don’t have to be just plain white, you know. Also a bit of a problem keeping them looking spiffy-clean.”

The sales person slowly rocked forward and backwards on the balls of his feet.

“We’ve got maroon, aquamarine and steelblue on stock also. For a small additional charge we can also get you gradients, starting at the scapulars (that’s the feathers on the shoulder right here) and then spreading either horizontally or vertically.”

The phony smiled appeared once again.
“So how about it?”

“Um... I think I would prefer white.”

“Excellent choice!”

The sales attendant pumped his hand enthusiastically, then reached into a pocket to produce a calculator, a small calendar and an order book.
“Okay, let’s talk actual costs.”

After what he had seen at Angela's house, he knew his work here was done. She seemed happy with the man she chose over him, so was there really anything else for him to do but to find a perfect place to leave this world?

So, he walked away, shoulders slightly slumped, feeling the weight of the departure on every part of his body. He knew that somewhere there was a place high enough for him to take off from, and he had all the time in the world to find his way there.

He walked. Through rain and sleet, through forests and swamps he walked with the lustrous image of Angela and her lover always floating before his eyes but just out of his reach. He wasn't angry at either of them, he only hoped he could have the same joy he saw them having. He tried to shake off the yearning for what he could never get.

Before his mission, he had been told departure would hurt. The others had said there was no way of getting used to the pain. Still, he found it hard to believe that any single one of them had known anyone like Angie. As a first-timer he didn't have anyone to compare to, though.

As he scrambled up a path leading to a cliff by the sea, it hit him. If he went back now, he'd be assigned to another mission at once. There were none too many of his kind left and they were always needed around the world.

He didn't want to go. His heart belonged to Angela and devoting himself to someone else seemed disloyal, almost like cheating. But he couldn't stay, either. If he didn't report his mission completed as soon as possible, his wings would be cut off, and without them, he'd be nothing.

He tried to accept his position. As a guardian angel, he had no business where love had come. It would protect Angela from now on and he would go to someone else in need of protection.

He looked down at the sea. Wonderfully still, it looked back at him with shimmering, deep eyes, as if trying to comfort him. He appreciated the effort but didn't feel the slightest bit calmer. He gave a nervous, almost shrieky laugh and turned around, trying to look around for a reason to stay.

There were none, of course, except for his hopeless, doomed love for Angela, and she didn't even know he existed. He stepped on the ledge, looked to the horizon and felt a resigned anxiety taking control of him.

The memories of his time with Angie flooded his mind all at once, making his heart throb with mixed joy and agony. He stared fixedly at the horizon, hands clasped into tight balls, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Steven woke early, his bones aching with need. His time had finally come. His mother saw it when he came from his room and whispered that it was too soon.

He couldn't stop moving. His eyes kept shifting, constantly taking in the kitchen, which seemed smaller than it ever had before. He kept touching things, feeling them, taking in their shape, and then pushing them aside distractedly.

It was more intense than his father had prepared him for. He kept moving to the windows of the house, searching for the locks. The muscles in his thighs tightened as he walked the paths high above the ground.

He walked them often now. There were preparations to be made. He had to be taken from the register and marked as an adult. Word was to be sent out to the other houses. A celebration was to be prepared.

The wait seemed unbearable.

- - -

The party was loud and dizzying. Steven found himself spun from person to person, given advice, told tales, and listening to suggestions of places to go and families to talk to. His mother sat at a table tucked away at the back of the room, wringing a handkerchief and watching him worriedly.

His father boasted loudly about his son being the first of the broods to make his way into the world, seeming undisturbed by the fact that that night was Steven's last night with his family.

Steven found a moment in the confusion to break away and sit with his mother in the back. She smiled tightly at him, eyes bright with tears.

It hit him then, just what he was going to do tomorrow. Fear began to seep in under the itch in his skin. His whole life had been lived in the care of his mother and father, and he'd always shared a room with his brothers. He'd always been surrounded by surrogate parents. Tomorrow that would be gone. He'd be on his own and unable to return. He would have to find his own home and make a new family.

Or he'd have to continue to live on his own, and that almost certainly meant death.

Everything in him twisted at the thought, and Steven wished he could curl back into his mom and hide his face against her and have her hold him. But that comfort was denied him now; he was an adult.

- - -

Steven had to go to the flying edge alone. His said his good-byes on the door step of his parents' house, and then made his way across the high paths. Sooner than he expected, Steven found himself standing at the edge of the only home he'd ever known. He looked down and took in the land. Then, he took a moment to prepare himself.

The shuddering continued to rumble in the passageways below him, only pierced by the occasional cries of suffering and shattering glass. He could feel the heat radiating through the office, unbearably fierce.

A blast of fire blew out a wall down the hall and he heard the metal of the structure groan and stretch. Somewhere in the next office a woman was whimpering and suddenly stopped.

There was quiet for a moment.

He quickly ran and closed the door, tearing off his shirt and wedging it between the door and the floor to keep out the pouring smoke. Moving backward towards the outer wall, he spied an unmolested telephone lying on the side of an upturned desk and put it to his ear, hoping that at the very least he could tell his family goodbye. The line was dead. He tapped the receiver twice and put it to his ear again. Nothing. He threw it at the door in frustration.

The building began to shudder again, and he could see thick black smoke rising up from all around the city below.

He felt the ground begin to quake, throwing him off balance and into the edge of an upturned chair. He didn't feel the blow, but there was blood covering his hands when he grabbed the side of his head. Outside, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The other tower was crumbling in a whirlwind of dust and smoke. His world went deaf from the rumble as time seemed to slow down. The flashing sirens slowly whirred below him whirred red and blue, painting the city in the colors of chaos.

The building swayed and shuddered again. He could feel the wall of flame creeping closer and noticed his hands were covered in soot. It won't be long now, he thought. He grabbed the overturned chair beside him and hurled it through the window. Glass shattered, and he watched it tumble down for what seemed like an eternity. Halfway down the chair's midair pirouette, something twisted acrobatically in freefall beside it. He recognized it's shape and it horrified him to the core. There were dozens of them.

The room was so hot now, that he couldn't bear it anymore. He removed his pants and laid them over the broken glass on the window ledge. He took off his shoes and placed his socks into them. He took off his wedding band and without thinking twice, swallowed it quickly. He pulled himself onto the ledge and closed his eyes, steadying himself against the outer wall.

The feel of water splashing on his arm cooled him. He shifted the oar to the other hand and steered around the rocks and purposefully plunged towards the rapids. The canoe moved as part of him, guiding him down the strong currents, rushing towards adventure and…

‘Crap’, he thought. ‘If that isn’t the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written.’

‘Think… Love. How do you express love?’

He felt the snow crunching under his feet as he pulled himself up towards the goal. The clear sky around him and soft clouds above him lifted him up and kept his heart yearning to reach the top. Exhilarated, he plunged his pole into the ground and pulled himself up, eagerly anticipating more of the journey…

‘Oh man, I didn’t think it could get any worse.‘ He envisioned Jennifer’s face in his mind. The softness of her skin, the tenderness of her eyes, the long flowing red hair….

‘Focus! Gotta focus. Girls are supposed to like this stuff.’

He felt the sweat running down his face as he pushed on through the jungle, swinging his machete back and forth clearing the brush at an incredible speed. He had to reach her, had to save her and nothing and no one was going to stand in his way…

‘Forget it! This is stupid. She’ll die laughing when she reads this. Then she’ll share it with her friends, who will share it with her friends, then the guys will hear about it.’

‘Ugh, my head feels like its floating. My thoughts are flying around too much. My mind is up in the clouds. In the clouds? Hmmm… Gently, gently, I can do this…'

"...Jessie says that it's an incredible, intensely spiritual ceremony. And after that, you stand in your bare feet and feel the wind. You spread out your arms like wings and feel like you're flying until the bungee cord snaps you back up. She says that being surrounded by the tribe who have just promised to trust and accept you with everything they have...well, she says it just fills you with peace and love from everyone and everything."

"Jessie's done this ceremony too?" he asked, desperately trying to think of a way to distract her.

"Yes...but she was born into the tribe, even if she never really lived with them. But for us--it's really a once in a lifetime experience. We're so lucky that they now consider us as belonging-"

"Katie maybe you should go alone." She was startled into not speaking, but had a peculiar look on her face. "I mean, it sounds more like a you thing than a me thing anyway."

Her voice was tight, "I guess so. I just...I just wanted to share it--" He tried to interrupt, but she pushed on, "No. It's not a big deal. I'll go alone. I'll be back in the next few days to pick up my stuff."

"What? Katie, no."

"Brian..." she took a deep breath to steady her voice. "I kept hoping and thinking that one day you'd be ready. But now I see. This is an opportunity of a lifetime...and you aren't ready to take a risk. You may never be. Just like you may never be ready to take a risk on us, on our relationship." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

"Kate."

"It's okay. Maybe it is better this way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katie opened her eyes as the last sounds of chanting died out. "Shaman Ritzan...I don't know how to describe it...that was just incredible."

"Mashton, my child. Now you should greet your friend, in trust and love."

"My friend?" She looked up and saw Brian.

Walking over, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to join you...if it's not too late."

"It isn't. Oh Brian, it could never be too late, I'd always give you another chance. But you don't have to jump. Just being here, joining in this ceremony...it means so much to me."

"It's alright. I want to."

"But I know you're concerned about the safety and--"

"Kate, shh. I'm ready. To take a risk."

"To take a risk?"

"In more ways than one." Her face lit up with pure joy. Brian smiled and said, "We'll talk about it after, okay?"

She nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shaman Ritzan finished attaching the cord to Brian. "Ready, my child?"

Shakily, he answered, "Yes".

Shaman Ritzan smiled knowingly, "Remember, the fear is not the important thing. The important thing is learning to trust, in spite of the fear, as the tribe has learned to trust you. Now go, my child."

Brian positioned himself on the cliff's edge...

“There is nothing that I can give you to prepare you for the sacrifice that you must make.” The elder looked straight into his eyes. “16 plantings have come and gone since the day of your birth. Xzintl has hidden the sun from us again as a reminder of what we must offer so that he will continue to bless the crops that he provides for us.”

The young man shook with the knowledge of what he must do.

The elder continued, “All men at your age have wondered if Xzintl would call for them to come and serve him. Know that what you are required to do is an honor that many of us would have given our lives for.” The elder reached up and placed a finger on the young man’s forehead. “To do what must be done, you must place yourself somewhere else in your mind,” He moved his hand down to cover the eyes, “and move with certainty. Now go quickly before his wrath is felt.”

The young man bowed his head to the village leader who had taught him so much about life. He backed away and turned towards the temple. He moved to the base of the steps and looked up at the long climb to the top. Place yourself somewhere else, he thought. He put his foot on the first step and began his last climb.

His first step onto the mountain was not on a trail. He pushed himself through the brush and steadily made his way up. The sandals gave him good purchase with the ground and the straps around his legs kept the branches from ripping his flesh. He used his knife to cut his way steadily through the brush. As he neared the top, he slowed to enjoy the beauty that was around him.

He took the last step onto the flat stone at the top of the temple, looking around at the forest that stretched in all directions. The village elders that had gathered there parted to allow him to move to the back of the temple. One elder stayed in his path, ceremonial flask in hand. He handed the vessel to the young man who held it up, letting the contents splash into his mouth.

The blood of the rabbit that he had snared ran down his cheek as he bit into its skin. He tore off another chunk of the sweet meat that he had worked so hard to capture. The taste of its life force refreshed him to continue on his journey.

He removed the loin cloth from around his waist and undid the leather straps from around his legs. He moved to the edge of the temple and looked down, deep into the sacrificial pit. He could just barely make out the bones of those that had gone before him. “Peace,” he breathed to the one who had last stood at this spot, whose place he would now be taking at Xzintl’s side.

“It’s almost over,” Lawrence said to himself. “Just a few more steps and I’ll be at the office.”

On any other day, of course, he would have taken the elevator. Not that he was particularly lazy, mind you, but only a devoted health nut would climb twenty-seven flights of stairs when he didn’t need to. “Or some other sort of nut,” he thought with a wry chuckle. If asked, he’d be willing to swear on the proverbial stack of Bibles that he wasn’t just doing this to prolong the inevitable. It’s just that the dull ache in his legs somehow made him feel more alive, more vital, than usual. And somehow, for reasons he could not explain, that just seemed important.

As he reached the landing outside his office, he paused in front of the door. It wasn’t hesitance, not really, but merely a matter of proper timing. The feeling that had been slowly building inside him since he awoke this morning had almost, but not quite, reached a peak. There was a natural rhythm to his actions and, just like the tide, it couldn’t be rushed.

A minute passed. Then another. With his eyes shut and no outside sounds to intrude, he could hear his heartbeat throb in his ears, elevated as a result of his exertion. Gradually, it returned to a normal tempo. And then, it was time.

The office was, of course, completely deserted. Not even the cleaning staff hung around at two o’clock in the morning. Slowly, deliberately, Lawrence made his way to his office in the corner. Once there, he took a moment to scan the walls and look at the detritus that any life lived to its fullness inevitably leaves behind. The diplomas, the certificates, the framed photographs; each item carried with it a memory of better times, better places. The fact that there was not a single bare spot on the wall where one more memento could be placed was fitting, Lawrence thought.

When the moment had passed, Lawrence walked over to the window beside his desk and unfastened the latch keeping it closed. In a more modern building, there would be no such latch; the window would simply have been sealed shut. Of course, had this been the case, all that would have changed would be the location of tonight’s little festivities. Still, Lawrence was glad that what was to happen could happen here, where so much of his life had been spent.

And then he was up on his desk – careful not to dislodge anything from its resting place – and out onto the ledge outside the window. He looked briefly at the street far below and then sat down to remove his socks and shoes. And there he waited, patiently, for the feeling to reach its peak. Five minutes, ten minutes – time no longer had any meaning for Lawrence whatsoever.

And then, finally, inevitably, it was time, and Lawrence slowly rose to his feet....

Nizari was a young man, a boy really, homeless and alone after his mother died and his sister was captured and sold into prostitution. How the Old Man’s fanatics knew that Nizari had killed his own father was a mystery, but The Old Man was shrouded in mystery. His castle, Alamut, stood high and inaccessible on a mountaintop south of the Caspian Sea. You went in and out blindfolded, led by the Old Man’s followers.

There had been many other young men there when the Old Man had held court. What a scene it had been! Music and food and dancing followed the Old Man’s passionate speech, his call to the young recruits. The party had gone on for many hours before Nizari had collapsed. And then came the dream – or was it a dream?

Nizari remembered at least three nights spent in Paradise, maybe more. Silk cushions everywhere. Incredible food – even dates with almonds in them, Nizari’s favorite – and there had been little streams of milk, and wine, and one of pure cool water flowing through the enchanted garden. And the girls.

Never had Nizari seen girls as beautiful as these, and never had he dreamed of girls so willing, so able, and so wonderfully accessible. Day and night flowed together in one long sensuous and extravagant fantasy. And then sleep returned to him.

Not all of the other young men were back in the Old Man’s court, but most were there and with similar tales. The Paradise they had heard of all their lives, the reward of the faithful, had been theirs to taste and enjoy. But now they were back in the world and the Old Man was making them an offer.

Those who wanted no part of the better world they had sampled were free to go back to their miserable lives. No one responded to this offer. Those who would offer their allegiance, loyalty unto death, would be brought into a brotherhood of intelligent and able men who lived only to serve the Old Man and to occasionally visit Paradise on earth. The young men rose as one and shouted their acceptance. But there was one more offer, available only to one select young man, and The Old Man looked at Nizari.

There would be one, and only one, young man who would be given the ultimate test of loyalty and purity. His reward would be to enter Paradise forever, today, if he was found faithful and pure. Was Nizari interested? He could only nod.

The Old Man led the way out of the court, up the stairs of the nearest tower, and out onto the parapet. Nizari followed, then the other young men, then the Old Man’s faithful retinue. Nizari was placed at the edge of the wall, facing out, and was given the chance to throw himself from the wall, demonstrating his allegiance to the Old Man and entering Paradise forever. There was nothing to go back to, nothing on earth like Paradise.

Chapter 1

David stared at the birds as they flew overhead. Every year at this time he wondered where these flocks came from, where they were going to.

Chapter 7

Graduation was wonderful. With his parents there to see him in his gown and hat, up on the stage collecting his scroll from no less than Bill Williams, the ornithologist who presented David’s favourite TV programme, Birds in Paradise. David couldn’t stop grinning. David Michaels, PhD had rather a nice ring to it. Now for a holiday in the Andes watching the eagles soar, and then off to start work with Frontiers Genetics.

Chapter 12

The trial was a complete success. Both mice had lived and each was now wearing their horns and trunk without any signs of rejection. One of the mice had even started to use the trunk as an extra limb, grabbing on to things by curling the end around them. The results of the previous experiment were still under study, too, and David went through to the other lab to examine them. They looked just like normal dogs, but examining them physically didn’t show the changes. They each had a bat’s larynx and ears. David hoped they could learn to use the bat’s echolocation. It would really help rescue dogs if these changes worked.

Chapter 15

Pegasus flew! After years of work, David had finally managed it. The horse, white of course, had magnificent wings, much like a swan’s, but much, much larger. The biologists said it couldn’t work. Even a powerfully built horse simply wouldn’t have the muscle power to generate lift and actually fly. And they had been right… at first. David just wasn’t willing to give up.

Chapter 20

David awoke. There was no sound other than a muted beeping from somewhere to his left. He was lying on his stomach, head flat on the bed with no pillows. He opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh light. A woman in a crisp, white uniform came into his field of view, limited as it was by the unusual position.

“So we’re awake, are we?” she asked. “The doctor will be around to see you very soon, but don’t worry everything was a complete success.”

“Mfhhphgrg,” muttered David. He had meant to say something lucid, sensible, but the combination of the after-effects of anaesthesia, and having his mouth squashed against a mattress prevented this. He struggled to turn, but was prevented from doing so by the straps holding him to the bed. There was also the dull ache in his shoulders, which became sharp pain when he twisted.

“Ah, Mr. Michaels,” Dr. Winston came into the room. “Congratulations! The wing graft has been a complete success!”

What is the measure of men? Sam wondered. Of the definitions he'd found so far in his 27 years, none had suited him. Now, sitting mournfully on the rooftop of the Capital One building, Sam cast his eyes down over the city that lay beneath him and from this vantage had been able to physically express the disparaging emotional distance he'd felt from all of humanity.

It was cold, despite the happy June warmth that swirled around below, the cool winds whipped around him now, forcing him to squat low near the ledge to prevent being inadvertently blown off. He wanted no action to be inadvertent, for now was the moment of great contemplation. He could feel it, deep within him, he was now very close to the pinnacle of his existence, his epiphany, the ah-ha! Nothing.

Frustrated, he sat down hard. The gravel roof was cold on his legs and behind. He lay, flat on his back, staring up into the sky, lolling his eyes wildly around him. There was nothing to see, just clouds. His mind wandered back to this afternoon, and the cloud directly above him began to take on the shape of a face. Sam blinked. The face persisted. He focused solely on it.

It haunted him. It was Jenna's face. Sam was not surprised he saw her face and wished it away. He had come here to escape her, to no avail. She had asked to meet today for lunch, and, of course Sam, obliged. He remembered her perfectly. She'd worn a simple floral dress, a white sweater and her hair up in a simple elastic band that doused the blond locks cheerily around her head. She'd worn a smile that day, as well, a big one. She had news.

She had been waiting for him in the café, running to meet him at the door. She hugged him close to her, the smell of her perfume wafting around Sam as she pulled away, blue eyes pouring into his.

"I'm getting married!" She exclaimed, happily thrusting her left hand toward him, a glittering stone banded around her finger. Sam blinked. His heart felt like it had ceased to exist, no breaking, no pain, just a gentle numbness that now enveloped him in soft, cold embrace.

"You're what?" He mustered.

"He finally proposed." She gleamed with joy, "Last night."

Her eyes searched him for a response, the glee in her eyes began to ebb away with each passing moment without one. Sam swallowed hard and felt himself smile, though it was not a joyous smile, it stabbed every fiber of his being with realizing he was too late.

"That's great, Jenna." He said, "He's a lucky man."

He remembered little else, now rising, cupping the ring box holding the his own ring, Jenna's too-late ring, he stepped up to the ledge of the building, removed his shoes and socks and placed the box gently beside them.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. It was true, the lab often had an odd pervading odor, but tonight an unusually high concentration of ozone tainted the air. With each step, the familiar smell increased, requiring propellant willpower simply to usher herself forward. As she deepened into the darkened laboratory, a thousand light years of thoughts rocketed through her mind, each one compounding the next with heightened worry.

“Michael?” she called out to no one in particular, followed by the awkward silence of no response.

She pressed forward nonetheless, pursuing conscious recognition of that which intuitively she already knew. Upon reaching the ionic capacitor, her greatest fears were confirmed. “Project Tetragrammaton” had indeed been launched. Her stomach flipped, as a barrage of tingles raced her spine.

The door to the inner chamber of their constructed device lay open, a cumulus vapor seeping eerily across the threshold. As she walked vacantly toward the chamber, her feet made contact with an empty bottle, inadvertently kicking it into the metal frame of the machine. Her eyes fell upon the bottle just before it shattered, permitting her but a glimpse of the word Apotheosis before breaking into meaningless shards of glass.

“Michael?” she called desperately. Again, came no response.

Slowly, she began to search the desolate lab, peeking behind this screen, under that table. Where could he have gone? What if he was hurt? What if he were vaporized in an instant? The sadness of this last thought was too much for her to bear. Fighting back tears, her sorrow quickly morphed into anger. How could he have done this without us! Years of painstaking research and endless waiting…and he went through it… without us… without me! She could hold it back no further, erupting forth a typhoon of sobs as the emptiness she felt inside swelled tenfold. She fell to her knees, crying into her hands, as the last bit of hope faded into darkness.

Then, peering through the crack formed between her fingers, she noticed a light at the far end of the lab. It was coming through a backdoor that usually remained shut per protocol. She hoisted herself from the ground and began walking toward the light, invigorated with renewed faith. She stopped upon the threshold of the doorway, hesitating as though unsure of herself. Hypnotically, she ran her fingers over the sign next to the door which read “Roof”. She took one-step forward into the moonlit stairwell, but then paused again.

Deftly, she spun on her heels, and began marching deliberately back into the laboratory. She approached a metallic cooler, which she swiftly opened. A convoluted smile spread across her face, as she extracted a bottle similar to the one she had kicked, although this one full of shimmering golden liquid.

Entering the machine, she closed the chamber door behind her.

“To Apotheosis!” she shouted triumphantly, before downing the substance.

“…and to Michael,” she added, as the last mortal tear flowed from her eye.

He was just an average man; non-descript, quiet, almost invisible. In the busy streets of New York City he was even easier to miss. He walked by a homeless man who screamed out about the end of the world, and how God would surely abandon the wicked when the time came.

He said nothing but stopped just long enough to put some change in the shoebox at the man’s feet. Someone had thrown a soda can in the box, apparently not pleased with the man’s condemnations. He plucked it out and discarded it in a nearby waste container.

He walked some more, and soon encountered a young woman who was obviously in a rush. She kept knocking into him, trying to swerve around him, only to find herself face to face with oncoming pedestrians and each one in a rush as well.

Bump. Bang. Shove. She couldn’t seem to get around him. He stepped off the curb into a pile of unclassified street sludge and allowed her to pass him. He looked down at his wet, dirty shoes, and smiled. He got back on the sidewalk and continued walking.

He passed a fire house and paused to read a few of the weathered posters of friends lost during 9/11. He remembered that day so clearly; so many people questioning everything. Condemning the president, blaming a nation, the constant prayers to God asking, “How could you let this happen?”

Finally he reached central park. He bought a pretzel and sat down next to the playground and watched the children play. He tore bits of bread off the pretzel and fed the birds that had surrounded him. He must have fed hundreds of birds that day.

The sun was beginning to set. The sky was awash with color. The red, orange and gold seemed to bleed from the stars that were just visible in the approaching night.

He took his socks and shoes off and walked up a grassy hill toward the bridge. He liked the way the cool grass felt between his toes. Grass was good.

Once he got to the bridge he got out a button he had bought earlier that day. It simply said, “God loves you.” He placed it on the rail and got up on the side of the bridge. He said softly, “I never left”.

Jack and Lucinda crested the last ridge and watched as the sun set behind the castle in the distance.

“We’ll camp here tonight.” Jack told Lucinda as he gathered small branches to start a fire.

“Do you think it’s true Jack? What they say about her.” Lucinda asked, as a slight shiver of apprehension went through her slim frame.

Being able to see their destination was bringing her fear back.

Sighing, Jack sat down beside the now flickering fire and began preparing their meal as he tried again to explain to her about the Queen in the castle.

“Lucinda. We both know we have to do this. Our people are dying. You’ve heard the stories just like I have. Throughout our lives we’ve been told of the blue queen who resides within the great castle upon the last hill.” Wearily Jack shook his head and continued on, he’d been repeating this almost nightly since they set out from their village. Sometimes he wondered if Lucinda just played at being scared so that he would retell the old tale. But looking at her in the growing fire light, he realized that maybe he needed to repeat the tale to hold back his own fear and worry. To remember their course and keep themselves from turning back.

“We must continue, we both know the consequences for our people if we turn back. One of us is destined to make it. We must move ahead without worry and fear to cloud our judgement of the rough terrain. We must not think of failure. Our people depend on us to make the journey and for one of us to come back and heal our people.” Looking at Lucinda now in the glowing fire as he handed her a chunk of bread and a bit of stewed welden that they’d trapped and skinned earlier in their travels, he couldn’t help but wonder which of them would survive the journey. Which of them would the queen bless with healing powers and give flight to? Would there even be a choice to make or would one of them die in this last leg of their task? They had come so far and relied so much on each other. He could not imagine going on without her and he could not imagine himself wanting to if she should fail to survive. What would be the point then?

His people, his mind screamed. Remember your people and your promise. You both travel with the love of your people and with their blessings and prayers to the Goddess above for courage and health and speed.

“Lucinda?”

“Yes Jack?”

“You do remember that the stories tell of only one being blessed by the queen, don’t you?”

“Yes Jack, I remember.”

“You would go on without me?” Jack took a deep breath and before he lost his nerve, he whispered with a croak. “I would.”

Sighing heavily Lucinda replied. “Yes, Jack. I would go on. For our people, I would continue without you.”

The callused fingers quivered as they tussled with the fine thread, stitching with speed and control despite the tremulous nature of their umbilicus. In the dim light, they appeared as dancers, contorting wildy with the flickering candlelight, ceaseless. Wax drops pocked the hands that hovered above their labor, themselves stained from an incalculable duration of toil.
What the thread bound and manipulated, playing upon it so delicately and subtlely as to appear as a puppeteer's string, was a feather, one among many. Twitches, minute adjustments, precision placement and fastening, all had been subjected to the thousands of feathers that lay upon the workmen's table, row upon row. Splatterings, dribblings, wax seals were in obvious employment in the crafting of this enigmatic burden.
Hunched over the table with all outside interference shut from his consciousness, sat the man. His efforts were overseen by his masterful eye, drilled with repetition, rehearsal, practice, and most of all, obsession. Thick coatings of dust rest upon the surrounding room, untouched by any hand. The doorknob sported this same coating as well, giving all inside, excepting the man, a stale aura reminiscent of the dead. A muttering could be heard penetrating the silence of the musty room, "...Daedalus, the fool, knowing not of his own tools...I..will succeed where many have failed..." It came as a barely audible growl, one would have to be piqued to have it register upon one's ears.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the man rose from his huddled position, backing into the now swirling dust. Where once an unseeming amalgamation of pieces barely worthy of an arts and crafts fair, lay the form of splenderous wings destined to bear their wearer to greater glory.

It was time to go. He had fulfilled his mission.

With his usual grace, he strolled down the main avenue. As he headed toward the Town Square, he took in the sounds of the morning. Birds twittered their songs. Somewhere off in the distant a dog barked and a cat quickly followed with a loud snarl. These were sounds of a place full of life.

He paused and looked at the buildings around him. The morning sun painted its golden hues on the facades and shutters. Soon the people of the town who gave him a brief home would rise to greet the day. They would open their shutters as they had opened their hearts and minds, fully and sincerely. The townsfolk would greet the day and each other in the manner befitting their new lives.

They would look for him to give their heart-warmed tidings of joy. They would look for him to tell of the things they had seen, to share their newfound feelings. They would look for him so they could teach him the new things they had learned. They would look for him.

But he would be gone.

As he continued walking he viewed sites which served as impromptu schools. There was the storefront where they discussed the value of goods and how that value paled compared to the value of a life. Across the Town Square, the fountain became the place to show how people could no longer waste their resources. They learned that nothing was forever. Along the wall surrounding the graveyard the children learned that some fears were unfounded and useless. But they also learned that sometimes it is normal to be afraid.

Heading towards the edge of town he remembered various lessons. Lessons of life. Lessons of love. Lessons of how to see things in completely different ways. Some lessons were learned quickly. These lessons showed how easy it was to learn. And how quickly they could teach others. Some lessons took a very long time to be absorbed. Such lessons proved that one must think through the facts, sift through incorrect assumptions and reach a sound conclusion. Every lesson was deemed important. No lesson was wasted. He felt confident they would remember the lessons.

He continued out of town and up the narrow dirt road. At the base of The Hill he passed the spot where it all began. Only two months ago he was here. On that day he sat waiting to be discovered, waiting for the first question to be asked. He could still remember the doubt he felt. He was not sure he was wise enough to teach the lessons. But he found he was. Indeed, he was smart enough to teach and smart enough to learn. At the top of The Hill, he was filled with emotions he had not felt in a long time. He turned towards the road he had just traveled, facing the town. Tears of joy filled his eyes.

"I deserve the right to die in my own time, in my own way!" he told her furiously.

"It is a crime against the state," she responded, carefully controlling her voice.

"Well, give me the death penalty and we'll both be happy."

"Very funny, Mr. Johnson--"

"David."

"What?"

"You've called me crazy in court, you have me locked up in this horrible hospital, you won't let me choose how or if I want to live...the least you can do is use my first name."

"Fine, David. Don't you think...don't you think that it is, at least a little bit, crazy to want to die? To end your life?"

"No, Ms. Cunningham. If you had to live as I do, in pain each day, knowing that it is only going to get worse, if you knew your days of thinking clearly were numbered...well, you might not agree with my conclusions, but you wouldn't think it was crazy to think of ending it all."

She looked at him and tried to think of how to respond. Fortunately, her cellphone rang, saving her from figuring something out. She answered, then said to David, "I have to take this. I'll be back to see you later this week."

Resentfully, he said, "I'll be here, Ms. Cunningham."

"Sophie."

"What?"

"If you're David, then I should certainly be Sophie."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She knew her responsibility. She knew she had a duty to the state. She knew she should stop him. But, as she looked, she was the man she had come to love and respect. She saw him in pain, deep, never-ending pain. And she heard her voice, sounding like someone else's, give him directions to the cliff.

"Thank you, Sophie."

"Good-bye, David."

She controlled herself until he walked out of sight, but then the tears started. Soon, she found herself on the rocky ground, mourning the brave man she had known for such a short time and crying out her pain at knowing she would never see him again.

Natalie looked at the boy. He looked so small in the adult-sized hospital bed. She steadied her voice and asked him, "You understand, Timmy, that you won't have your legs anymore."

"Yes, Dr. Phelps."

"Are you worried?"

"No. Not really. I mean, I've always been scared before all of my surgeries...but this one doesn't seem so bad. I can't even feel my legs anymore and I haven't been able to walk for a year, since I was 5."

Her voice clenched up and she needed a few deep breaths before she could talk without crying. "When you get a little better, we can talk about getting you prosthetic limbs..."

"I'm not going to get better."

"Who told you that?"

"No one. Everyone thinks I'm too young, that if they tell me, I won't be able to handle it. But I hear things...I spend most of my time in hospitals, around the doctors who tell my parents things...and I don't sleep as much as they think."

Her heart ached for the little boy. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, Timmy."

"I'm not. It's better to know the truth. And this way, I can deal with it."

"How do you deal with it?"

"I dream. In my dreams, I can walk; I can run which I've never been able to do in real life. I grow tall and swim and ride my bike and even fly. I know everybody and have lots of friends...I'm not scared of anything. In my dreams."

"You're a very brave little boy."

"Thank you." Natalie got up to leave, promising the child she would be by to see him tomorrow.

He called to her right before she left, "Dr. Phelps?"

"Yes, Timmy?"

"Don't tell my parents that I know. They'll worry."

"Okay, Timmy." She walked out the door and closed it carefully. She leaned against the door, fighting for strength that seemed to come so easily to the small child.

Bill Lassell stood painstakingly still on the small ledge and took in the view that Triton presented to the casual observer. The horizon was so close he felt he could reach out with his hand and touch it.

But that’s nothing special on an oblong piece of rock barely 354760 km across. But since this also imposed a gravity of only 0.08 of what one was used to on Earth, it made for real slow and careful movements. One wrong step and you would spend the next two hours trying to get back to solid ground.

He gazed upward at the planet around which Triton swung in a retrograde orbit that would pass by this same spot every five days, twenty-one hours, and three minutes. Neptune could be barely picked out against the vast field of stars in the background. Squinting his eyes, he could discern the storm bands circling the equator, churning up the dark blue and green atmosphere in eerie fractal patterns.

The scientific work was done. For the first time in three years, Lassell had something resembling spare time.

With the suit whirring softly as it gently circulated air around the interior, Bill pushed of gently with his toes and rose slowly over the surprisingly smooth surface of the moon.

Only a few craters spotted Triton, something which had confused astronomers for quite a long time. As part of the current expedition, Lassell had been able to document the incredibly active geology of the moon. Basically a bit of rock with an ice crust (although the official report would be a bit longer and more detailed).

Lassell spread out his arms, still in a trajectory high above Triton. The moon rotated slowly beneath him, showing off extensive ridges and valleys intertwined in a complex pattern. The result of numerous freezing and thawing cycles, this landscape reminded him strangely of the tundra on Earth.

Squinting his eyes to block out the horizon, it gave the illusion of flying across a bleak outback back home.

Slowly, slowly he descended, drawing closer to the surface once again.

Quite an amazing place, he thought, especially after spending the last couple of years cooped up in a claustrophobic cabin or in suspended animation.

How aptly they named this place. Triton, son of Poseidon. The personification of roaring waters. Well, they got the water bit right. They were not so accurate on the aggregate state, though.
Out here, the water of life turns to icy death.

He sighed. He recognized the signs of getting one of his melancholic phases.

Water, ice, it didn’t make much of a difference. That’s what we came here for. Out here, you were glad for the tiniest bit of water you could find. And Triton was almost one quarter ice.

Lassell smiled. Throw in a couple of volcanoes which tended to throw out liquid nitrogen, dust and methane, and you had yourself quite an interesting piece of real estate, located at the edge of the solar system.

He dropped the cup. As he felt the purple liquid traveling down his throat, he also began to feel something else. At first, he wasn't sure. Was it his arms? His legs? After several minutes, one thing became clear: the rats reacted much differently than he did. His entire body suddenly felt a shock, bringing him to his knees. It left as suddenly as it came, leaving him with a painful headache. He went to the bathroom to find some aspirin, hoping it would reduce the symptoms.

Looking in the mirror, he noticed a strange yellow tint to his face. He took off his shirt to search for any additional changes the liquid had caused. The rest of his body had not changed, as far as he could see. Relieved, he reached for the handle on the mirror. Then, the sensations he had felt after drinking the potion suddenly solidified in front of him. There was a flap under his arm.

Success! His experiments had finally proven successful! He ran out to the living room, and tried to jump off the couch, arms extended. He fell, but at a fraction of the speed he had before. He also found he could glide several feet. He recorded his findings in a journal that contained hundreds of columns of names, numbers and notes. At the top, he wrote in, Liquid. He had nothing else to write; he had found the concoction in a cabinet, sealed and dated several years ago. For notes, he wrote in, “User glides.” He still had much experimenting to do with this liquid, so he left room to write in any unexpected occurrences.

Over the course of the next month, he progressively worked on jumping from different heights and areas, testing the effects of everything he could think of: wind, velocity, pushing off with the other foot…the list was endless. He kept a chart and pencil in his pocket, and wrote in his numbers after each attempt. He also carried a vial of his liquid with him at every jump, in case its effects wore off.

Finally, after several months, he decided it was time for the jump. The jump that would be all or nothing. The jump that would be life or death. The jump that would show the world he was right. He stared blankly at the single empty row on his chart, a magnificent paper that now reached several feet when unfolded. That single row had but one word written on it: CANYON.

He stared downwards, and saw hundreds of feet of rock. Rock and steel. The cliff was abandoned…empty, except for the cars dumped there by criminals. As he sat on the edge, he swore that he heard people talking about the cars. How could they care less about a man risking his life than their old junky pieces of trash? This almost drove him to insanity, as he jumped up in fury.

He stared at the ground again. The crowd was getting bigger, but there was nobody important down there. It was just a bunch of rubberneckers looking for a train wreck. But that was his life, wasn’t it? People gawking at him because he was different? People looking and laughing at him behind his back? “Look at the freak” some would say. “What a loser” said others.

And now, when it really mattered, who was there? Big worthless crowds of nobodies. Where were those people who said they cared no matter what? Where were his mom and dad? Where were his grandma and grandpa? Most of all, where was Max?

“MAX!!” he screamed into the air. The people below stirred. Did they care? No. They were just here for the train wreck. Their stupid, freakin’ train wreck.

Tears started pouring down his face. He could hear them laughing at him. “Jump!” they yelled. “Freak!” they yelled. But he wasn’t a freak...was he? Could he help but being anything except what he was?

Max said he was beautiful. Max understood what he was going through. At least Max said he understood. Max loved him, he said so. Max said he could fly.

He put his hand up under his shirt and gently rubbed his hairless chest. Max loved my chest, he thought. He ripped off his shirt and threw it over the edge. It slowly fluttered to the ground. Half of the crowd watched it fall while the other half kept their eyes on the roof.

The scream of the fire trucks moved the crowd back. Men with red helmets and black goulashes rushed around on the ground like ants after a windstorm. Small pathetic ants that could be crushed like his life had been. He stared at his shoes. These shoes can crush those ants.

He removed his shoes and reared back to throw them. These beautiful shoes that Max had given him. Someone else could use them. He sat them gently on the ledge. He took off his socks and folded them next to his shoes.

Someone was speaking into a bullhorn. “Don’t jump” they said. “Sending someone up” they said. He didn’t listen to them. He didn’t care. Whoever they sent up wouldn’t be anyone who cared.

Mom and Dad cared. Grandma and Grandpa cared. Well, at least that cared up until he told them about Max. Then they yelled and screamed. They called him names. “Freak” they said. “Loser”

Then Max left.

“MAX!! WHY?” He yelled into the air.

“Freak” came the reply. “Loser”

He didn’t care anymore. He climbed up on the ledge and for the first time he truly acknowledged the crowd. “I am not a freak!” he yelled. “I am not a loser!” Was that his mom in the crowd? His dad? Grandma?

“Max?” he whispered.

“They dared to say it couldn’t be done!” He lifted the glass to no one in particular. He ‘clinked’ it against the framework of the machine then downed the whole glass in one gulp. He imagined that it made him tipsy, but knew it was only an illusion. Sparkling Cider won’t do that.

He started to smash the glass against the floor but reason won out and he gently wiped off the glass before meticulously setting it on the table, well back from the edge. He grabbed a notebook and added “clean up laboratory” on his “to do” list.

Flipping back to the first set of pages, he compared the designs to the machine. “That doesn’t look right,” muttering to himself. Taking a tape measure (the one in the leather pocket on the bottom left of the peg board was the most accurate) he measured a line on the drawing, noted the measurements on a blank page in his notebook, entered the numbers into the calculator, selected the appropriate numbers from his own legend, multiplied accordingly and then measured the matching piece on the machine.

Any more out of spec than that and the send off would have been seriously delayed. The new journal entries would have eaten up most of his upcoming weeks. Satisfied, he put the tape measure back in its sheath.

Knowing that someday, these notes might be worth something, he stopped and added another entry into the journal, double-checked that every entry had a date and time noted and closed up his notebook, sticking it back in the safe, which had the combination on a post-it note glued next to the dial so future historians wouldn’t have to damage the equipment to reach his writings.

Picking up the device by the intentionally-added handles he carried it out to the car and placed it onto the shaped foam in the box bolted into the trunk. Firmly pushing (but not slamming) the lid down, he pulled up on it once more to make sure that the trunk was secure. Climbing into the driver’s seat he made a note of the time in a smaller note book to be transferred to the larger one later.

The car silently climbed the winding road. It had never been driven over the speed limit and had just had an additional oil change over its regular 1,500 mile oil change in preparation for this trip. Had there been another spot to launch that was close to being as proficient, then a shorter route might have been preferred, but alas, there was no better combination of distance driven with appropriate location.

Finally reaching the top (exactly on time, according to the day-timer) he locked the car, wrote another time entry and then placed the keys and notebook into a pocket that was built into the device. Once secured, he put his arms through the shoulder straps and walked towards the ledge.

Jasmine looked at the strange man in front of her. "You're a what?"

"I'm an angel."

"An angel."

"I'm here to help."

"An angel?"

"My name is Gabriel."

"An angel!"

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Why is that?"

"Because even if angels were real, no god would send one to me."

"You're wrong, Jasmine. I am an angel, I have been sent here to help you, you are well loved by those on high."

Jasmine took another look at the odd man. "I thought you were crazy. Now I don't."

Gabriel smiled, this wasn't going to be as hard as he'd feared, "You don't?"

Her voice turned hard, "No, now I think you are trying to make me the butt of a cruel joke."

Gabriel watched with dismay as she stalked out. He raise his gaze to the skies, "You never give me the easy ones, do you?"

*******************************************************************************************

Jasmine looked around at her friends and family and felt her heart fill with pure joy. Everything that she had ever wanted, every wish she had ever had, had come true. And she had Gabriel to thank. Where was he?

She grabbed Sydney as she went by, "Syd? Where's Gabriel?"

"Not sure. He said something like, his job was done and he had to go back home. I don't know where that is. Do you?

"No." Sydney shrugged and left. Jasmine walked out onto the porch and breathed in the cool spring air. She thought back to that day, just over three months ago, when she met the unusual man who had totally changed her life...for the better.

She thought back to his crazy claims and look up at the sky. She thought to herself, 'Maybe I do know where he is Sydney, maybe I do know.'

She laughed out loud at the thought. Sure, he'd been a remarkable man, but a real angel? That was silly.

Still, she wondered where he was now...
*******************************************************************************************

That day she told him and his brothers that she wanted them to come with her to get food. He begged her to let him stay…just this once. She knew he was afraid. She smiled and said, "Just this once…"

They returned shortly. His mother looked very worried. There were a lot of strangers around. Soon this loud banging sound started, making his home shake. His mother went to investigate and told her children stay together.

Minutes later it seemed God had turned the world upside down. It felt as if invisible hands had taken up their home and threw it back to the earth. He felt himself falling.

The next thing he knew, it was a day later. His leg was bruised and it hurt. He dragged himself, looking through the remains of what was once his home searching for his mother and brothers.

He found her first. Her poor body was in a crumpled heap by a bush. He stood there, for a minute. Silent. He wanted to yell at her. Why did she leave him?? Why didn’t she stay with them?! He saw something under her, he gently moved her lifeless form and discovered a tiny pair of toy shoes stuffed with little socks. He wasn’t sure why they were there… And he wasn’t sure why he took them with him either… maybe because they were near her. The strain of the recent events was too much and blackness surrounded him.

He woke a few hours later, gathered up the socks and shoes, and went searching for his brothers. He never found them.

With the destruction of his home, chaos soon ensued. It was as if the world had gone crazy. One day he was almost mauled by a dog, another time, some people chased after him, he only survived by hiding behind some leaves and lying very still.

He knew he had to do something. He remembered his mother sitting with him one night while his brothers slept. She showed him the stars and said that his father was up there watching over them. He asked if she missed him very much. She said yes, but that she would see him again some day.

He smiled, thinking of her. He remembered her words, “You’ll know when you are ready”. She was right. He knew what he had to do.

He went back the area where he used to live. The framework of a huge house was already up. He forgave the men there, they didn’t know about his nest after all… He went to the building nearby where the people that had chased him lived. He saw the mother putting out corn for the birds… He knew now they were only trying to help him…

He stopped by where he last saw his mother. All that remained were a few of her feathers. He looked at them only for a few seconds and then went to the cliffs that overlooked the ocean…

Hunched over and folded into his coat and into himself, he walked. The street, lit orange by the streetlamps, was shiny from the rain. He blinked as raindrops fell against his eyelashes and was acutely aware of how this would be the last rainfall he'd experience. Thoughtlessly, he gently crouched down in a doorway and searched in his ratty trench coat pocket for that final cigarette, a cigarette he'd bummed from a plain looking girl in the train station. Crunch, flare. He lit up.

Some minutes later, he stamped on the butt and heaved himself up again. Leaning against the doorway, he thought. He felt no nerves, no unsurety. He knew what he was going to do and had accepted that he had no other choice. He started to walk on, and as he passed a bin he dropped in his train ticket. "Won't be needing that." He thought, with a smile that brought tears to his eyes.

When he'd awoken that morning, in a cheap motel room, fully dressed, the first thing he did was answer the ringing telephone. Now, heading slowly towards the bridge, he realised he couldn't really remember a word of what was said. All he knew was that she was gone. He knew that he'd been told things like "They did everything they could.", "It was just too late" and he was thankful to his memory for blocking those tepid sentiments out.

If only he'd booked the train for the day before, he'd be with her now. If only he... If only... No. He'd already decided he wasn't going to grieve, wasn't going to let himself think it over. He knew that no end of thinking would always lead him to the same conclusion. So he trudged on. To the bridge.

As he walked out of the town and along the stony road, the rain eased up, and the sky began to grow light with the early hours of a new day. He paused and breathed in deeply through his nose, wondering if he could still gain any pleasure from the world. But as the cool, clean air filled his lungs, he felt only resignation and as he saw the sun slip over the horizon, he knew only endings.

Rounding a corner, he caught sight of the bridge and slipped his coat off behind him, letting it drop on the floor. As he walked on, rhythmically, he flipped open the buttons on his shirt, and let that drop too. Reaching the bridge, he allowed himself one sentimental look back at the road he'd travelled and then pulled himself up to sit on the stone wall at the side of the bridge. He removed his shoes and socks and noted that his breathing had quickened. His eyes felt hot, but as he stepped down onto a ledge on the other side of the wall, the feeling of the wind on his bare neck calmed him.

At 8:30, Michael Simmons walked through security and made his way outside. The Senator from Alabama climbed into his Audi and reached for the keys in his pocket. Sliding them slowly into the ignition, he stopped before turning. His white knuckles released the wheel as the events from the last 40 hours hit him.

They had appeared seemingly out of thin air. As they walked towards the Senator’s office, the tallest of the three gave the secretary the most eerie smile Simmons had ever seen. It was such a calm expression to have been emanating from such a frightening face. Closing the door behind them, the senator and the strangers sat down. Forgoing any introductions, the tallest delivered a single demand in a voice that rivaled James Earl Jones in both tone and volume. Delivering the demand was a formality; both the strangers and the Senator knew it couldn’t be met. Not in a week, not in a decade and most certainly not in one day. The consequence for failure, however, shocked the Senator into hurried action. The strangers excused themselves.

Simmons’ frantic phone calls to his peers were met with a blend of bemusement and apathy. In one instance, in a call to the Junior Senator from Virginia, he was advised to consult a psychiatrist and take a vacation. Normally he would laugh, but at that time he could barely breathe. He stood up to look out over the city, his mind racing.

Why me? Why? Why the who...wh…God…mother fu…Why the hell did they come to me?

The Senator collapsed into the chair that had seated the President, fellow Senators, foreign dignitaries and, less than 6 hours ago, the cause of his torment. Taking a deep breath, he went home.

He lay in bed all night, his body wanting so badly to rest but his mind racing and forcing him awake. His wife, asleep beside him, didn’t know he was worried and didn’t really care. She was too caught up in planning her social life and redecorating their home in Montgomery. When morning came, she left while he stayed perfectly still, gazing at the ceiling. About a quarter past 12, he showered and dressed. The drive to his office was as long as he could ever remember.

He walked through security without a problem and made his way to the elevator. Arriving in his office, the three were there and seated. He closed the door. Eye contact. He shook his head. They stood and left. The tallest turned and glared at Simmons.

Nine.

What do you mean nine? You’re leaving on that? Giving me nothing to work with? Its wrong…understand…wrong! You can’t do it. It…it’s…IMPOSSIBLE!

Nine.

God no… NO! Why?

Nine.

And with that, they left. Around 8:30, so did he. From I-95, he heard the sound and winced at the flash. He watched it expand, consuming everything as it gulped the world around it. His final sight was a tall stranger standing on the guardrail…naked, smiling.

“I think its done.” Julie stated and she wiped her hands down the front of her lab coat. “But I would really like to run some more test.”

“I can’t wait for anymore tests!” Eddie exclaimed. “The seasons are changing. I have to do this now.”

“It’s just that I…” Julie burst into tears and she threw her arms around Eddie.

Eddie gently rubbed his hand up and down her back. “Julie, sweetheart, you knew this would happen. I came here for a reason. I was needed. But that need has past and now I must go.” He pulled her away from him so he could look directly into her eyes. “Are you sure it will work?”

“Yes,” came the timid reply. “but Eddie. I love you.”

“Then set me free, Julie. Set me free.” Eddie took the small vial of green liquid from tray where Julie was working. He turned and started walking towards the door. “Goodbye, Julie.”

Eddie walked to the end of the hallway and opened the door to the staircase. He could hear Julie’s sobbing as he stepped onto the landing. His heart broke a little. She would never understand. She has only known her one existence where he has known so many. The sounds slowly dissipated as the door gently closed. He opened the vial and drank deeply. The empty tube dropped and shattered on the floor.

Eddie started walking up the stairwell. Thoughts of the last few months played through his mind. The things he had to accomplish, the problems he hoped that were solved. Someone needed to be a spokesman for his kind. He was the one chosen. Would he remember any of this once the potion took effect? Would he really care? All he knew for sure is that he was ready to go home.

Was it the potion, or was it getting warm in the unventilated stairs? He took off his jacket and let it drop to the ground.

Fourth floor he thought to himself. Two more to go. Covered in sweat, he took off his shirt and let it fall down the shaft as he continued his trek up. His body started shaking. His vision blurred.

The sun was almost blinding as he walked out onto the roof. He reached down and pulled off his shoes and socks and placed them on the ledge. His pants fell to the hot asphalt in a bundle.

Shouldn’t my vision clear? My hearing? He thought as he stared into the distance. Does the potion work? Worry crept up his spine like a snake slithering across the desert. Am I…

Ssshhrreeeeeekkkkkkkkk. The scream of the lone eagle snapped him from his reprieve. He could almost hear the words. If he could only listen harder.

Ssshhrreeeeeekkkkkkkkk.

Yes! I can understand you! He though as the first spasms racked his body. He climbed up on the ledge.

“Eddie!!” came the scream.

Was that Julie? Or was that the eagle? If I could only…

"Good morning, love, time to wake up."
"Dad, five more minutes."
He laid down next to his daughter. He didn't mind giving her five more minutes. Not only was she the apple of his eye, he didn't mind closing his eyes a few more minutes with her.
"Okay, its been ten minutes. Are you ready now?"
"I'm ready, I'm ready."
He helped her pack her bag for school and in a few short moments, they were out the door.
"Oh, not again!"
"What's the matter?"
"Open the door back up, I forgot to brush my hair!"
The nine year old little girl was just learning how to care for her appearance.

He kissed her good bye at the front doors of the school, feeling lucky to live within walking distance to work and school so they could avoid the busy traffic in New York City.

"You're late."
"What do you mean?"
"You always call before 8:15."
"So, I'm late. Get through it. Get through it. Do you two want to come over for dinner tonight?"
"Would love to, I'll take off a little early tonight. I'm going to run, I hear some ruckus. I'm going to check out what the noise is about."
"Love you, Son."
"Love you too, Mom."

Looking acoss the office floor, people were beginning to stir and fill the place. From his desk he could just see out his boss's window. His boss was leaning back in a nice wing backed chair. In the distance behind him, he could see a plane. 'A plane? That's new...must changed the routes...looks kinda low to me. Whatever'
He looks down at his desk, flipping the day calendar.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
'Another day another 1000 meetings'
9:05 - Call broker. Call floor man
'At least we start out fun'

'Call someone! Get Help!' Screaming was everywhere. The smoke was thick and he wasn't able to see anyone. 'Get air. man. Air!' To his right, he saw light - his boss's office was open, gaping. The light brought hope - hope of fresh air. The pains in his body slowed his crawl but he made it to the ledge soon enough.

Braxton rose to the implied challenge.

Of course he could do it! What did they think he was – a joovie? Hadn’t he been one of the best finishers in the last yevach contest? Why, of his friends, only Mak and Teisha had beaten him. Mak had performed well, there was no denying that. But Braxton had finished just behind him. True, that was a Class 2 draighu, and the one coming was a Class 3, but even so!

And to suggest that he was afraid! That was the ultimate insult! Fear never came into it, not really. He was just being sensible, naturally cautious. Using common sense. But fear? Never! No way, not me, not Braxton the brave!

Over the horizon, the monster gathered its strength. Far out over the Velm it twirled and spun, sucking in its smaller siblings, thriving on their energy, building its own. As it grew, it became even more powerful, more dangerous, all the while hiding its power behind a deceitful screen.

The Prime Foreseer stared into the depths of the draighu hunter. Ahhh, yes, there it was. The next yevach contest would be graced by this draighu. Although it was a Class 3, it was beautifully formed, so elegant, so compact. It would be a stern but manageable challenge for all the contestants.

He checked again. The draighu was perfect; there would be no need to monitor it again. Its path was clear. At the start of the contest, all the brave and strong would be in position to face its test. A test that would give them an opportunity to succeed. Or die.

Braxton looked at Mak. What was Mak’s problem? Why was he acting this way? He knew he could beat Mak, and the next Class 2 yevach was the time to do it.

So why was Mak suggesting that Braxton was afraid to enter the upcoming Class 3 contest? Mak wouldn’t enter it! Of course not! After all, he was not that much older or bigger than Braxton, and definitely not as skilful. Everyone knew that. So why was he making such an issue of Braxton entering?

There was no way that Braxton would let Mak treat him like that. Mak could not be allowed to make him out a coward! Not in front of Teisha! Especially not in front of her!

No matter what might come of it, he would fly in this contest. He would meet the draighu, and beat it! He would show Teisha that he was not a coward.

Inside its concealing cloud, unseen by the Prime Foreseer, the hurricane continued to grow in strength. If the Prime were to see it now He would know that He had underestimated it. This was a Class 4!

Braxton stood on the ledge. Deep inside he felt that this was the end of something he did not want to end, and the beginning of something he did not want to begin. But he wouldn’t back out now. He couldn’t!

“Have you noticed anything weird about Clarence these days?”

“Other than normal? No, he’s always a little off base,” said Chris.

Brenda looked over the wall of her cubicle at Clarence squinting his eyes. He was working on something and it wasn’t work. He was obsessed more than his average quirkiness.

She turned to Chris, “He mumbling.”

“He always mumbles.”

“But, he’s mumbling words that I can’t understand. Usually, I can at least translate his idiosyncrasies.”

Chris, Dave, and Bill began their daily chant as they each said their individual line.

“He’s a jerk!”

“He’s a creep!”

“He’s a freak!”

And then all together, they chimed,

“He’s Clarence!”

Clarence cringed less than normal. The thickness of his skull was surpassed by the depth of his current thoughts. Those morons couldn’t penetrate his purpose today. Like a bobber being pulled down by a fish, his thoughts fought the surface of the water and then plunged deeply into the unseen depths of his mind.

“He’s up to something. He hasn’t touched the Merkensen Project in days,” said Brenda.

“Well, he’s touchin’ the Twinkies big time! Just look at that tanker!” blurted Chris.

Brenda dismissed the insult and looked over her cubicle again. Clarence was intense as he manipulated some objects on his desk. She was intrigued by his cubicle.

Birds. Pictures of birds everywhere. There were feathers everywhere. But, most of all, there was a stuffed owl glaring and staring at you when you walked by. Like the picture of Jesus, his eyes followed you no matter where you were. It seemed alive. Especially when Clarence talked to him, “I love my birds.”

To understand Clarence didn’t take much. He was a geek. He was overweight. He did geek things. Not really different from the others around him.

It was his voice. His voice was a perverted cross between Mickey Mouse and Julia Childs in heat. It wavered, it shimmered, it vibrated in fear. Of course, the surrounding jackals pounced upon him all of his life. They were relentless.

Nobody could respect his commands, “Leave me alone!” he would Mickily shrill.

They didn’t. They never did. They never would. Clarence was born a target.

Occasionally, Brenda would step in and stop the carnage, but she couldn’t be everywhere. She would find him cornered in the lab as the vicious attacks rotated from hyena to hyena.

Now they were at his desk taunting him.

“Look at the weirdo! He’s gluing feathers all over his arms!”

Clarence didn’t blush this time, he stated a fact.

“You know, birds are descendants of dinosaurs. They are powerful and have no regret in killing their prey. Their talons are like the claws of raptors. They can tear their prey apart while they eat them,” he warbled in his high and flute-like tone.

“Ooooohhhhh! I’m so scared!” mimicked Chris.

Clarence reached down and neatly took off his shoes and socks revealing eagle talons surgically attached to his feet.

With the fluid moves of Bruce Lee, he quickly attacked…

Dean rushed to the edge of the jungle, trees and brush flying past. The rare poison had acted quickly, causing hallucinations and searing pain as if the most primal, deadly fires were chasing him. To him, fire was chasing him, he could see it, and he could feel the skin peeling off of his flesh, as he ran out of the jungle. The fire behind him started to recede, and Dean slowed down his pace. He swatted aside some tall brush and entered a clearing.
The plain was totally flat and a large square. Three sides were surrounded by the jungle while the other was the edge of a cliff. He walked into the middle of the clearing and slowly turned in a full circle, arms out, smelling the fresh air and listening to the birds singing. He pulled out the dagger from his satchel and examined it in the sunlight. It was beautiful, made out of ornately designed silver. The blade stretched out twice as long as his hands and the hilt was as wide as his hand, the whole dagger perfectly balanced and seeming to weight nothing.
He held the dagger carefully, turning it over in his hands. As he marveled at the dagger and his recent experiences, a crowd of people came out of the surrounding jungle. They were happy, every single one of them, the same expression pasted on their faces. They were applauding for Dean, for his success in the pyramid. A feeling of glory overwhelmed him as he basked in the applause that was given to him. The air tasted sweet, the sounds of the jungle beautiful and the sights equally aesthetic.
He looked to the edge of the cliff and found that there was a crystal clear pool of water ten feet below the edge. A warm breeze picked up and blew over Dean. He took off his leather jacket and threw it to the side. All of the people from the jungle gathered around him still as he removed his shoes and socks. They were still applauding. A rush of exhilaration coursed through his body at the thought that all of these people loved him.
Dean was standing on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a dried lake.
A look around at his admirers told Dean that they were encouraging him to dive into the pool. Yet a look into the pool aroused a sudden fear of jumping the length into the pool. The feeling of the wind on his bare neck calmed him. He gazed down one last time and closed his eyes. His shoes and socks lay neatly on the ledge beside him. Carefully, he held his arms out perpendicular to his body. His legs felt stiff below him. He whispered to no one in particular "I love you all" and leaned forward heavily, feeling his body begin to topple over. He pushed off hard with his toes, spread his wings and glided off into the horizon.

“Save our souls, the bodies will be returned later anyway,” said the dying Gungah to the priest.

There wasn’t much left in him. No wonder, from the abdomen downward his body was a gory wound. Still, the huge wings were undamaged, and in his last moments he spread them wide open, coming to rest on a soft bed of feathers. He wouldn’t need them for this last journey.

The priest backed off. His task was done.

The Gungah’s face lit up, sweat beads formed on his brow, and he spread his lips in a smile. He closed his eyes and whispered his last words in this world.

“It’s beautiful,” said he, and the last spark of life in his body was extinguished.

But he died in assurance that his next life would be a happy one, for they don’t fight wars in paradise.