Metaphorically Speaking

End Program...

He stood alone in the penthouse. High above, away from the noise, the traffic, the people - away from everything. Everything that is except that nameless, sinking feeling that followed him everywhere, every waking moment of his life. He was done and he knew it. He looked around the hexagonal apartment - at its glass walls and fancy trimmings and as he kept looking the wall in front of him started cracking. Slowly like a cancer the crack spread throughout the fabric of the glass and then with a single tinkling crash the wall came tumbling down in pieces, the glass wall that had been painstakingly decorated with portraits of the people that had come to mean something to him in his fifty-odd years of existence. He looked at the walls to his right, the ones with the pictures of the places he had been to and the paintings of the artists he had grown to admire. The cracks spread outward slowly with a compelling inevitability and he watched in mute fascination as the places and the paintings came crashing down as well. He didn’t turn as he heard the walls behind him go down along with the shelves holding the things he had created that he valued most. Rooted, he turned to his left in time to watch the biggest of the walls go down, the one he had painted himself with his ambitions, his dreams, the places he had wanted to see, the things he had wanted to create. All around him in pieces lay his life while the sun played gently on his features caressing him, mocking him. The sinking feeling lifted. He smiled bemused at the forceful clarity with which the one thought in his head kept bouncing around. He walked to the edge lifted his arms like a diver and jumped.


Restart...