He was violently thrust into midair. All he could do was to pretend to fly. He choreographed his gestures amazingly: arms outstretched like wings slightly bent backwards, legs tight together, eyes closed… he was riding the autumn breeze like any other bird in the sky.
Like any other. Just like any other…
Did he know that soon he would hit the ground? Did he?
No one noticed the catapult behind the bushes… all he was, was a small flying bird, just like any other.. riding the autumn breeze…
What would they do when he drops… would they rush to dampen his crash… would they try? Or once they realized that he was nothing more than what he was, they would let him go… let him slip… away… they would simply clear the way for his crash… they would gracefully fly aside to let him drop unhampered unstopped. He wasn’t a small bird riding the autumn breeze, he wasn’t just like any other, they would say…
Until then… He will just enjoy the wind beneath his wings…
Fly, Damn it!
2 comments:
hope he never falls...
fly forrest, fly!
gus, have you seen "winged migration" (le peuple migrateur)?
if you haven't, please do whenever you get the change.
good post.
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