When the time comes, pull the cord.
Freefall exhilarates. Frightens. Freefall delivers beauty and danger. Jake licked his lips. Skydiving dominated his heart like a medieval lord jealous for his lover. Jake strangled the parachute cord in his right hand.
A roaring sea-rush of air surrounded him. He plummeted, a vertical freight train, headed for mother Terra in an unplanned and certainly unorthodox flight. A city dotted with rooftops and church steeples approached at an alarming pace. Wouldn’t it be a hoot to be impaled by one of those suckers? he thought as he admired the heaven-pointed church-fingers.
Lights popped on like kernels of corn at critical mass as dusk handed off its remaining diffuse light to the night. Faint smells wafted up from a thousand houses – apple pies, wood fires and lover’s scents mingled as one. He flattened out, the resistance of air acting as invisible hands on his shoulders, abdomen, legs and feet, lifting him from the earth. He glided and soared, his nose dividing air to his cheeks so that it flowed past his ears and roared its approval. The knowledge that eagles feared him wrenched a maniacal laugh from his soul.
He ripped at the cord and the chute yanked him heavenward. The world slowed down to a single moment in time – his descent, the movement of the early evening moon and his mind. Nothing to do now but float back into oblivion and obscurity. Unless he could maneuver over the lake and drown . . .
Everyone called Jake a junkie, but he had a secret that none of them could imagine – he could fly.