Wind. Shivers, rushing beneath skin, trembles through fingers. Hair, blown forward, wild.

The canyon wall stretches on, into darkness—where’s the end? Or, perhaps, the end is just the beginning…

The beginning of…?

Feet slip. Slivers of stone tumble down, disappear. It’s the tempting of death—the abyss—that’s so intoxicating. It calls.

Freefall. A searing glimpse of death.

Then the save. Arms are yanked upward. Cloth catches the breeze—colors dyed to mimic fiery cliff faces.

Oh, to fly! To keep going, never stop; not for walls, people, nor societies. To flaunt the end, to start anew;

The ultimate.