Soaring

Parachutes are dandy features, but too bad when people don't want you to survive the fall they fail to include them in the "Let Me Push You Off a Building" package. Firm hands easily pushed my clawing efforts overboard into the vast empty space. My claws failed to grab onto anything except tufts of wispy clouds.

My final resting ground, an unexpected street. A young toddler grasps onto his mother's hand walking closer, and by silent estimation, they would be right about where I am going to be in only a couple minutes. Just close your eyes little one, please, please.

Peaceful moments like these, ones where externally you wail your arms about and scream bloody murder for that dear child to back away, for people to look up and make an inflatable mattress appear or even a bounce house. Yet internally all gawking movements and one last attempt to fly by flapping your wings are out of the body, irrelevant. Suddenly everything is irrelevant. The debt, the rent, the job, the food, the clothing, all that matters is life. Those moments where you were living. That trip to Morroco, Indiana, the near-death experience of falling into the toilet, and the touching moments of your mother smiling and loving you up while that backstabber took pieces of your dessert.

Everything is released like a flood gate. You learn the meaning of life - I'm not supposed to tell. The jaunty attempts to flutter like a bird transform into powerful thrust and the reality hits you hard. We could always fly.

A beautiful macaw just barely grazes the bottom and soars off into the heavenly gates. While down below my mangled body stares off solemnly in the world of finding life. It is going to take a while to take the brains out of the sidewalk.