He found himself scraping with destiny in the hallways, exchanging scoffs, and, in the glare of the afternoon light, questioning his path. He questioned himself, “Do I want this?” And, “Yes, I surely must” he answered, assuming he had to make a choice right away, every day, as he had been doing. Something rang different with this run-in, however, and he went right home, skipping work.
Something rang true, too, when he set down his whiskey-glass — it was a shame he had been raised like he was, quiet and shy. He had broken that shell, he thought, but parts of it still stuck stubbornly to his body, preventing him from moving forward as quickly as he wanted, and instilling anxiety and hesitation prior to every important life-move. He lived every day of his life like a crack in the sidewalk, pushing and twisting in seemingly random directions, eventually stopping for no understandable reason — every interaction with someone else was a tributary, a small branch off of his day.
He was cramped and felt too static — he needed to occupy himself with something, so he set off on a walk. Outside, the wind was gusting, blowing, then sighing, encouraging him to make the changes he so dearly needed in his life. “Alright, alright!” he thought out loud. He started walking faster, faster, faster still, then he began to jog. The wind was restless, like him, and kept fussing. He began to cry and run as fast as he could. He was determined to end the crack in tonight’s sidewalk somewhere meaningful. He was tired of this life, and wanted nothing more than to taste movement and hold love. He kept running, faster and faster, somehow, and refused to let his fatigue get to him. He had lost sight of what he was doing, why he was doing it, and how he was doing it — he was exercising change in an extreme frenzy, thanks to the wind, who was always quick to jump on an opportunity, but slow to acknowledge the consequences. His hearing started to quickly fade in and out, with the pounding of his feet, and the screaming of the breeze drowned out any hesitation he might’ve had. His sight became a blur of pale yellow light, and the grayed colors of his surroundings. He was blind. Yet, he still kept running. Finally, when he slowed down a little and got his senses back, he saw where he was headed — right for a stairwell. Despite his efforts to stop, he couldn’t, and he went flying over the edge, desperately flailing his arms and legs, and toppled down the stairs, before finally resting on the concrete below. He was dead.
