Hitting the ground from seventeen miles above the earth, this child brushes himself off and stands up to look at his surroundings. The clouds are frozen across the landscape, and an ash sun offers little compassion. The ground is dismal and cracked, tiny whispers of thirst creeping out. All the trees have become skeletons of a picturesque spring, their branches stretching out hoping to find some comfort with their bony fingers. The entire plane is devoid of any life, a world dead to everything except itself. The boy would be crying right now, for he is used to being thrown into this place. Though the tiniest hint of doubt and fear breathes deep within the boy’s mind. He comes to realize that each year the drop grows higher and higher, and hurts more. What really scares the child is not the height, but the impact. The fall from the sky is great, a release from the grips of an inhumane world, a temporary limitless morph into a fearless bird. The fear is the earth zooming towards this boy, his life flying past. Oh Whoever, he doesn’t want to hit that ground. He doesn’t want to feel his body smash, every bone in his body shattering, and every part of him exploding. The last beat of his heart a nuclear blast obliterating everything cherished. That is the final moment, the curtain call of the epic tragedy. The crowd is a gapping mass of fascination and perversion, clapping and cheering for a minute well worth their time. The boy is falling quicker now, wind pushing past the boy’s face, he laughs innocently as the wisps of air tickle his cheeks. To this boy innocence and ignorance were born twins, and he bears the cross to raise each. Is it fair? The redundancy of that question weighs in enough to make it invalid, yet its receptiveness makes the answer obvious. Body dead seventeen years ago, the child’s heart still believes things will get better, still holds its weight in gold to the belief that this is the last time. This ignorant hopeful heart puts assurance in the fact that its faith will sprout angelic wings, where this free fall will swoop into a graceful glide of elegancy, a magnificent maneuver of skill. But that is never going to happen, the mind wills the heart into submission and those wings never materialize. The closer the child gets to the ground the closer he gets to his own demise. Tears of fear, tears of sadness escape from the corners of the boy’s eyes and they are quickly whisked away in the arms of the speeding wind. Siliently the boy prays to anyone that would listen, hoping that something will save him from this fall. Unfortunately for this child, his prayers fall upon deaf ears He realizes what is going to happen and he yells out to the heavens. He yells until his voice falters and fails, and like everything else in his body, gives up. This time he is falling for something different. He knows this know, and he is scared. The unyielding pressure from the wind blows off the mask that he has worn for so long in his life, and the true colors are shone dark and intense. The crowd below him gasps in surprise from what they now laid witness to. How surprised they are, this bouncing bubbling bumble of joy is suddenly popped by the needle of fear. Inside the bubble they lay their naked eyes upon a torn doll that cries blood and bleeds tears. The crowd quickly disperses away from the middle, leaving an open circle for the child to hit the ground. None of them would like to interact with the boy, they are afraid as well. They are worried that the same sickness that corrupted this child will leave his dead body and slid into theirs. They are afraid that this demon will be the hammer to shatter their happy existence, raining shards of depression down onto their clique. They see this boy, who was so happy in the beginning now so sad, so detached from everything in life, so deathly ill. If it happened to him, it must be able to happen to them. With more thought upon this panic devours the crowd and spits them out in every direction. Screams erupt and they run away from the boy that is speeding towards them. They must get away and save themselves. For sure the boy will not survive, and even if he did, the person to help him may get sick as well. A sharp breath later, everyone is gone and the boy is approaching the ground to end up alone. The boy draws in a gasp of surprise, and seconds later his mind surgically cuts it off. You are used to this, the mind cries to the heart. Don’t hurt over this, it has happened before, deal with it. The words spoke and dipped in the venom of realization, and soon the child grows ill. The heart, pumps in defiance, pushing itself to the limits, letting the boy know it is still here, as it will always be. Blood rushing to every part of his body, the boy soon becomes faint, and the world that is racing towards him tilts and rotates. The boy screams for everything to stop, he yells out in rage and frustration until some unknown force cuts off his vocal cords. He yells for everything to stop, and for everything to start over. Soon all that is left is his voice crawling along, meekly whispering the same tortured cries. The boy still pushes his voice, trying to get every ounce out of it, till the dam of tolerance is broke, and the river of tears burst free. This time is different; he has never acted this badly before. Why is he screaming, why is he crying? What is going to happen, is this the end? Tremors of fear spasms through the boy, rendering all control useless and weak. Knowing nothing else, the boy closes his eyes and clenches his fists. It’s better to not see the end, to know is worse enough, but to see the ground charge towards him without mercy is unbearable. Incomprehensible prayers are whispered through the boy’s pursed lips, all asking for the same thing: mercy. Sniffles mix with the boy catching his breath between sobs, forming a depressing melody. Hope forces the boy to pry one eye open, and through the tiny crack he sees the proverbial blur of the rushing death. Fear rips the eyelids open and wide-eyed he stares at the ground which is too close. Near the end, the boy lets out a stifled cry, and tries to reminisce on happier times. His mind searches deep within his memory bank, and finally withdraws a memory of when he was younger. He was sitting on the edge of a porch, feet dangling lazily in circles below, his dog was sitting beside him, getting petted in therapeutic strokes, and the boy was just gazing up above at the sky letting himself go drinking up everything the world had to offer. The boy remembers this, and holds on to it as a security blanket, and imagines the warm comforting feel of the dog nuzzled up beside him. Just before he hits the ground, he smiles at this past thought, and a bit of laughter escapes his mouth as the unforgiving soil takes over.
   There he lies, broken and useless, a mere exhibit to the crowd. He tries to cry out for someone to help him, but he is unable to speak, he is unable to move. Every bone in his body shattered, every ounce of strength drained out, he is helpless. The image of this child daunts the crowd, and pity runs away with their courage. They shriek and stumble, rant and run. The dust from their sudden departure creates a fog around the boy, and as it settles, the boy melts away with it. The ground is left barren, save for the puddle of tears, and the imprint of a small child. The boy is transported to his home, where he lies there crying and fearing, dreading the next fall he knows will come. This was the worst, and he has learned, they only get worse. Just before his endurance drips away, and his fatigue claims his body the boy thinks of that time when he was with his dog outside. As sleep conquers the worn child, the image of that memory is etched into his mind, and in his dreams he is back on the porch, with his dog, happy and innocent. The dream exists only as long as the world allows. And before the boy can dive deep within the pool of happiness, the image of this all is shattered and the boy is falling once again.