"Where do you think you're going?"

The question rang in Charles' mind, followed only by silence. Where was he going, among the roads of life paved before him? Where had he come from? Where was he now?

There was a crossroads about the ways of life, a crossroads that he now found himself standing beside. The previous road was finished, the obligations once plaguing him purged, and Charles realized that he could now wander wherever he wanted. Wherever he wanted -- but where? His mind spun. Should he continue on with the former path? Or perhaps a turn to the left would be better. No, the right. The right looked the most welcoming; its brick path flowed down the vast expanse of fields and valleys like a melodious stream. The left curved upwards, but there was something glittering at the top; something that called out, beckoning him to see what it was. And still, there was the middle path; mundane, the path that was always there for him to take.

He frowned. Three options lay before him -- innocent, straightforward, and yet all-too-difficult to decide. He turned his glance back to the right, then ahead, then behind. Thoughts boiled inside: What would come out of each? What surprises did each one hold? What didn't he know about them, and what did he know, and what could he do with what he knew, and how could he find out what he didn't?

The man gave a frustrated grunt and threw himself onto the ground beside the crossroads, allowing the soft grass to envelop him and the tender clouds to bob by overhead. Yes, he decided; this was his choice. He would lay here, for who-knew-how-long. And he was content.

He jumped.

The world unfurled before his eyes, like a kaleidoscope in full bloom. When had the sky been so blue? The sun so bright? The wind so fresh, whipping against his face as he soared?

Screams filled the air. That was the best part of it all: the screams, the onlookers, the panic. He was the center of attention now -- and for once, nobody was smiling.

It had always been the smiles. He’d coped with living on the streets, with the longing of something to fill his stomach and quench his thirst. He’d coped with being a cripple -- coped with the shock when he’d first heard that he had Parkinson’s, and coped when the disease had taken away his job as a repair worker. Who needed money, anyway? Who needed a place to live? The metropolitan streets were just as lively, and at any rate, nobody ever bothered to pay him a visit.

He’d coped with the weight of mountains, yet in the end, all it took was one last pebble to bring him down. The smiles.

It was the smiles as they told him he had Parkinson’s. The cheery looks that silently said: We know you’re going to suffer, but we don’t care. It was the expression his boss gave when he dismissed him: Oh, it’s a pity, but it’s not my problem. The cold gazes as he filed for bankruptcy: To us, it’s only a matter of numbers. Say your debts, say your mortgage values, and spare us the details.

The looks chased him even as he fled to the streets. He could hear passersby thinking: Here’s a shame. We could do something to help, but why bother? Sometimes, the smiles weren’t even directed towards him. They would be to a friend, or a loved one, or even a trinket that they’d recently purchased. They taunted him nonetheless, reminding him of what he’d lost. Others knew it, and that was the only reason they smiled.

He eventually left the city, hoping to find solace where only rolling fields and empty sky would disturb him. His hopes failed.

The clouds spat in his face. The wind’s laugh became cruel. The trees shook their fists and pelted him with leaves. Finally, he understood. There wasn’t anywhere to flee, not when the very world was against him. He could only continue to fight, knowing well that in the end, he would lose.

And as he dragged himself back to the city, he thought: Then I’ll have the victory of choosing how it ends, at least.

All odds said that he couldn’t make it to the top of the City Tower with his weak and crippled body, but he defied them: One last triumph before the fall. He announced his final stand to the streets below: to the smiles and the taunts and the jeers and the snarls. Here I am. Now you see me.

A crowd began to form. It stirred.

The screams came.

Now you don’t.

He jumped.

The world unfurled before his eyes, like a kaleidoscope in full bloom. Pandemonium filled his ears; even the wind was screaming as he cut through the air, spiraling down, down, down…

Now they aren’t smiling, are they?

At that moment, he was the one who laughed.