The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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Letting Go, II: Without Wings

Warren clutched the girder with whitening fingers. The city seemed to spin in blackness below like the decal on an LP, his body the spindle. Above, sunlight flooded an otherwise blue sky dappled with clouds. His fingers trembled from the exertion of keeping his body's weight aloft and with the vibration of approaching footsteps. They were coming.

Every fiber in his body was stretched taught, and so acted as a receptor to each and every wave in the air. The sound of hammers being cocked back resonated through his being, and he gulped down what seemed to be a mass of lead in his throat. He closed his eyes and imagined that each bead of sweat that dripped from his body fell with increasing speed until they were a rain of bullets on the poured concrete below. His mind coalesced around the cold reality of his situation and he tried once more to climb. He grabbed for support on anything, but caught nothing. His finger caught on a rivet and he screamed as his fingernail was torn free. The pain and the sun were blinding above and within him, and his resolve was failing, despite his earlier resolution not to let them win. They would know where to find him now, it was simply a matter of time.

He had escaped because of one inside the organization who was kind enough to help him. But they had everything. They held all the cards, and they commanded the lawyers. They were the judges, the jury, and would be his executioners. It was simply not fair, and he could not allow it to happen to him. His wounded hand hung limp next to his body, the blood and sweat running down his length now joined by tears of mixed fear and exaltation. They would not win; they could not.

Warren had dreams, when he was younger, of sprouting wings and flying away. He would fly away from everything: his home, his mother, his school and all the neighborhood kids. He imagined himself driven to the edge of a great Southwestern cliff in the midst of the desert, almost like the ones in the cartoons. He would turn one last time to face his pursuers before closing his eyes and diving headfirst from the precipice. They were so close, but they could not catch him this time.

His eyes were closed when he acquiesced to the numbness spreading through his body and let go. Moments later, the two men in his pursuit came upon the bloody location of his fall.

"Why'd you let him go?" the officer asked his partner, staring at him with unbelieving disgust. "You knew he'd do something crazy in his condition."

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