RIP CORD

         Falling, the man hurtles through the air at a screaming speed, making a vertical streak Earthward. Almost motionless in his drop, he appears frozen in an instant. His lip curls upward slightly, in a tense smile, determined. His arms lie flat at his sides.

         He watches a patchwork of greens and blues drift and solidify before his eyes. Noise hits him, but a silence more profound penetrates his mood. The wind rushes at him as if keeping him aloft, but he knows better. His gaze drifts along the smooth and distant patchwork.

         Exhilaration grips him, but the utter silence surrounding him soothes and calms. It is as if he were floating, drifting down to the ground, or not moving at all. Anxieties, memories, everything is wiped out by the rushing wind, roaring in his ears. He has found his sanctuary, his cocoon.

         The moment is shattered as his hand moves upward to grasp a cord-- though really, in this situation, direction doesn’t apply in the usual sense. He remains relaxed and still for a few seconds more, and then begins to struggle slightly in his bindings. He thrashes violently and stiffens. The thought runs through his mind that he is about to die, and he instinctively tenses up for the impact.

         The man’s cheeks flail as he reaches terminal velocity and he closes his eyes behind his goggles, meditating on the irony of the word ‘terminal.’ This is the fastest he will ever go, and the last speed he will ever reach. He feels his eyes grow damp as he figuratively kisses the skies goodbye, his friends so long.

         He must be saying a silent prayer now. To voice one out loud would have as little effect and use as the parachute still strapped to his back.

         He plummets towards the ground as a rock would, with a stony resolution. The earth is no longer a beautiful tapestry of color and life, but a colorless and gaping mouth of death and finality. The man, bracing himself further, battles with his wits and senses, not sure what to think or how to act.

         Finally, he relaxes and accepts the inevitable. The jaws of fate embrace him contentedly as he swirls into unconsciousness. Another moment and he is gone.

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WAITING

         “Hey, Petey! Get me the paper, would you?” Petey’s father called from the dining room table. When Petey entered with the requested newspaper, his dad casually received it and opened it up to the Sports section. Petey stood to the side, waiting.

         Silently he slipped away, back to his room. Though his father wasn’t really the bonding type, Petey still wished from time to time that he would acknowledge him in some minor way. Petey curled up in a ball on his bed, knees to his chest, caught up in his dreams.

         It was still early morning, but he could hear his brothers rustling around, preparing for another day of work with dad. He knew they would soon be leaving and so, after dozing a few moments more, Petey stood up and walked over to see them off.

         Petey was the youngest of the three, and never got to go to work as his two siblings did. Sometimes this made him jealous, but mostly sad— and lonely. He would stay at home with mother, doing a few odd chores around the house, but mostly waiting for his brothers to return.

         It was midsummer, and Petey’s two brothers were both looking forward to the new school year ahead of them. Petey, on the other hand, was reluctant to see the break come to such a speedy end. Petey didn’t stray far from the front door the entire day long, in case his brothers finished work early as they occasionally did. He waited patiently, eagerly.

         Finally, they came home. As usual, they all arrived in a heap of dirty work-boots and an overwhelming smell of sweat. Petey ran up to greet them, as was his custom, but found, much to his disappointment, that they were all too tired to play.

         Around seven, the family gathered around the television set with their T.V. dinners, all silent— all except Petey’s father, who liked to act as the informative commentary. Lights would flash and eventually the children would be brushed off to bed, one by one.

         Roused each night from his spot on the floor, Petey would walk by the light of the flashing television set at his father’s side. Together they would go outside, to a great dog hut, marked “Petey,” and there the dog would sleep, dreaming of his two older brothers and the day they would play again.

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NONVERSATIONS

         “Yeah, yeah. We all have our different views. To each his own, you know?” Mario spoke rapidly, then paused.

         “Oh, what was that?” He paused again.

         “Yeah, I’ve noticed a lot of foreigners lately, too. Here’s one right now-- Pakistani by the looks of him.” And again.

         “Yes.”

         “E-excuse me?” A man asked, stopping in his tracks. He waited for Mario’s response, which came less than promptly. The man, Suraj, had never met Mario before, and didn’t understand why he was starting up a conversation.

         “I’m not sure I see where you’re coming from,” Mario finally said.

         Suraj frowned and replied, scratching his head, “Well, I am coming from the bathroom, if you must know…” Something suddenly occurred to him and he added, “Unless you mean my home country. I am from India—”

         “No, no. I get what you’re saying, you’re just not making much sense,” Mario explained, frowning directly at Suraj.

         “I know my accent is not good,” Suraj said, now getting a little heated, “But what makes you confront me about it, all out of the blue?” Suraj waited for a reply.

         “Oh, I see. Well, wait a minute…” Mario continued.

         “For what? You still have not answered my question. I have a train to catch, so if you’ll excuse me—” Suraj took a step away from Mario and the bench he was sitting on.

         “No, really. I think we might be able to work this out,” Mario said.

         Suraj stood there, a perplexed expression on his face. “No, it is alright. It was not important. There is nothing to work out. Thank you, good day.” Suraj finished, and just as he was about to leave, Mario stood up.

         “Okay, I’ll call you in a bit. My bus just got here. Okay, ba-bye.” Mario’s focus broke away from the spot just to the left of Suraj’s shoulder for the first time, and he stood up from his bench. Suraj blinked in surprise.

         Suddenly Mario appeared more tired and sane to Suraj, as he stepped up to the curb. Mario mounted the bus mechanically and it abruptly took off.

         Only the one man was left— left to ponder his strange nonversation in the dust and smog by the crowded road— watching the busy bus hurry off the edge of his horizon.

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INSTANT MESSAGING

Sunday April 20, 2008…

Geoff:          hey god. whats up

God:           ME.

Geoff:          lol. duh. anyway…

                   i know i shud b goin to church an stuff, but since u got an IM, i thought:

                   whats the point

                   the world is so connected these days, with the internet and all that.

                   wat’ve u bin up to?

God:           THE USUAL. SURVEYING MANKIND IN GENERAL,

                   GETTING SOME R&R.

                   I’M ON VACATION.

Geoff:          omg!

God:           YES?

Geoff:          heaven’s gotta b the awsummest spot to vacay! i can’t wait to die…

                   well, maybe i can… but not forevr

God:           INDEED.

Geoff:          oops. gotta go! goodbye+

God:           I AM.

Geoff has logged off…

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DEAD

         Ed was a fool. He fell in a well one day, on a dare, and never climbed out. His buddies abandoned him there, left him for dead. Nobody mourned. Three weeks later, a wandering passerby heard a cry and quickly called 911, taking it for a ghost.

         A firefighter responded to the call. He was a burly sort of man, kind and brave. He lowered himself down the well and found the body of forgotten Ed. Alive but half-starved, Ed quickly recuperated and became the star of the town. The man who once had no friends soon gathered fame enough to be given photographs, newspapers, even babies to sign.

         The firefighter’s part in Ed’s rescue was given hardly a mention. Over the next few weeks, he saved some kittens and put out a few small trashcan fires started by neighborhood pranksters, but no one took notice.

         One day he saw a woman starting to cross the highway in front of a speeding car and chased after her to the rescue. She never crossed, deciding to hold back and wait at the last minute. Our firefighter, however, stumbled in front of the car, turning to look into the woman’s horrified eyes as he fell.

            Papers the next day splashed the news around, and his ironic death became the fireman’s only legacy. That such a heroic man would die in such a foolish way seemed newsworthy. It made the front page of the small town’s gazette, and Ed spotted the article as he flipped through. He laughed as he read it, failing to recognize the man as his rescuer.