Sunday, January 9, 2011

Flight of Fantasy

She stood on the edge of the cliff. It was so far above. And the water so far away. And she was so scared.

And sick. Of being scared. Of playing safe. How did anyone know that being safe was better than sorry? What if you were sorry because all your life you have been safe? Never stepping out of the mundane, humbug life. Never knowing the grand adventure of doing something terrifying new.

Yes, she was sorry. But it was all gonna change. She would shun safety.

She looked down at the deep, blue ribbon that was deceptively calm. But she knew it was not. She could hear its roar even from the height at which she stood poised.

She looked above. Here the blue was not a mere ribbon. It was beautiful and endless. She wanted to fly into that blue. All by herself. Know and remember the exhilaration. Have the feeling as her most precious memory.

But she could not do that. She remembered a quote from somewhere: If God meant man to fly, He would have given us wings.

She flung a soft “Ha” at the single white cloud passing above her head and jumped.

She finally flew.

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