CLIFFJUMPER

Two men stood on a cliff. One leapt, the other followed.

“Well you’ve done it now,” the Second Man snickered. “You’re certain to hit the ground and die.”

The First Man reached into his rucksack, the store of all his talents—which all men carry with them always—and took in a hand a single needle and a spool of thread.

“I’ll make it,” the First Man winced, pushing the needle into the flesh of his arm.

“It’s hopeless!” the Second Man chuckled. “Every man who jumps dies. You’d know that if you knew anything about the world.”

In the valley far below, a cluster of jagged rocks waited, and strewn across this merciless serrated crag lay the broken bodies of spited dreamers.

“You see?” The Second Man pointed. “The result is inevitable. Resign yourself to fate!”

The First Man reached into his rucksack and pulled out a handful of feathers. “I’ll make it,” he repeated, weaving them into a pattern.

“How rich! How droll!” The Second Man tumbled through the air, cackling with manic glee. “I see now what you hope to do! But it won’t be enough. Your hand is unsteady! Your feathers are brittle! Your work is slipshod! If you had built your wings before you jumped, you might have stood a chance! But now, haha, but now!” The Second Man devolved into fits and spasms as he tumbled, his laughter one with the howling wind.

“If I waited,” the First Man said. “I would have perished on that cliff.”

The jagged rocks neared. The First Man threw his arms wide, placing the sum of his faith in the labor of his hand. His wings unfurled, a majestic span, but shuddered against the lashing winds, threatening to come apart.

“You see! You see!”

The First Man leaned forward, into the gale and death itself. And there he found the lift. A gust bouyed him upward, high over the charnel ground.

“It won’t last!” The Second Man screamed. “It won’t last! You’ll fly today and maybe tomorrow, but one day, one day-”

He hit the crag and sundered, silenced for a time.

The First Man sailed on, kissed by the gentle breeze. Here above the sea of stone, for a few fleeting moments, his spirit was free.

The wings shuddered once more, fraying in haste. Their limit had been reached. In the distance, just beyond the sea, a cliff waited.

And on that cliff, a familiar grinning man, waving his hand high. Ω