I step over the edge in the light air and let the wind rush into my open mouth. I try to squeeze it all out as its coming in. The drop is far and the water’s thousand licking, hungry tongues await to taste my descent into their angry mouth. If man were truly meant to fly he would have been given wings. Speaking of the losing battle of genetic lotteries, I was clipped of wings and given a great family of billions of step-brothers and step-sisters who would rather declare war on good intention then try to preserve it (not to mention having wings right now would also be pretty useful). Even the simplest thing like spreading your fingers open and stretching a naive palm out in the action of greeting someone hello has become an act of deceit. Long gone are the days when opening one’s hand in greeting symbolized one’s weapon hand was empty. The first demonstration of peace and greeting with good intention. Now the action itself is a weapon. Hands are con men waiting to seal the deal of their misdeeds. Hands snatch up unsuspecting victims as a Venus Flytrap, complete with a nectar cloak to hide the snare.
Wings would really help right now.
Or maybe its not worth it. Maybe I regret the jump and want to back out of the pact I made with the water, although the water is the only honesty I have. It will not break its promises. It will not lie, it will not cheat me. It will do what it will do to the very letter of that pact. The water is an assassin.
Maybe there is a yin and yang to my hired gun. I fall nearer, and see the shimmering blue change to gray. The beauty of the water is not its own. The gift of the water’s beauty is from the sky from which I fall. Maybe it is not perfectly honest. It too has a false welcome.
Of this I’m certain my step-family will have much to say.
I will earn my fifteen minutes of infamy. My crime is not my death, they will say. Their laments will be ones of anger and shame. They will say that clipped Icarus did not love them with all of my heart and my death was to show them how little I loved them. They say I am selfish. They say I did not enjoy my daily lashing like they give each other. Their love is a one of blows.
They love so much that the world changes around them. Where the earth was untouched, their love made rivers of blue water. Their love wrung all the blue from the sky. One day their love will strip all color from the world until no one knows color anymore. Just black and white.
Hopefully someone takes a picture and so that the world will be remembered for what it was before it is too late.
Maybe I’ll breathe in so hard the imperial air will fill me like a balloon and float me high into the day’s dying light.
Black and white.