Walking on Air
(double drabble)

The disastrous dive off the barn roof – one busted bike, two busted arms – planted the seeds. He was young to learn just how badly things could hurt – physical things; he’d gotten the other lesson even younger.

Since then, it’s been a seesaw between fear and fascination – he gritted his teeth and learned mountaineering, mastered a parachute, got through flight training. The small aircraft were the worst. The hang glider was always the best.

Till her death nailed the loser end of the seesaw tight to the ground, the weight of an entire mountain hanging around his neck. Without a brutal push, he’d never have gotten up to confront the killer.

And now . . .

He’s given the mountain its next victim. Is it satisfied? Is he?

In front of him, above and below him, infinite sky. The weight is gone from his chest, torn away when the other man fell and he did not. The breath of the mountain is rich with life, green smells from the thick forest below. His arm and face are bleeding, his heart is racing, he’s as alive in this moment as he’s ever been.

The next moment can look after itself. Right now, he could fly.