This is my first attempt at writing, or publishing, anything. Please be kind. That's all I have to say.
There were constants here, and he liked it. He always enjoyed a good constant. They were hard to come by these days.
The roar of the Falls, the grass swishing under his feet, the crisp cold snapping at his cheeks. All were solid, dependable. In the same place to the end of the Earth. Unlike him.
A breeze blew past the man, ruffling his hair slightly. Around him, the last vestiges of Winter snow was melting. Above him, the Falls continued to roar. Like a beast, he thought, ready to devour any man who crossed its path. He was not generally one for fancy, but a dying man has the right to indulge.
He sighed, fidgeting slightly. Waiting had always made him restless. He might have become accustomed to it by now, but no; stagnation had seemed his fate for as long as he could remember.
It had been a fine life, overall. His adulthood, at least; his childhood was a strange blur. Perhaps he had forced himself to forget it. He seemed to remember two young boys- one his brother, most likl- and a man with a hard voice. There was no use dwelling on it, anyhow; anything that he had forced out of his mind must have been nothing worth remembering.
The adult years had been good to him, in general. There were rough spots- the rejection, the near-constant stagnation, the few unsolvable problems. Still, life had brought him good things. A calling, the chance to follow his passion, break the norm, make glorious order out of chaos. Riddles. Work.
His friend.
He smiled slightly. Friend. What an alien idea that had seemed. Someone different, special, even. Someone he could stand to be around for reasons other than their use to him. A human being who, unbelievably, felt the same way toward him.
The man who expected them both to return home.
He sighed. If he had any regrets, it was leaving his friend behind. Surely, he would understand- a brilliant life, crowned by his last and best achievement, his noble sacrifice for his work, the last and greatest problem he could solve. Still, he felt a twinge. He was leaving the only person who seemed to give a damn about him without telling him how much that had meant.
His time was coming. He could feel it. He was a man of science, through and through, but he felt it even so. How strange. Perhaps this was common in criminals about to face their execution.
For one last time, he closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate. The roar of the water. The fresh air snapping at his face. The sun on his back. Everything moving in perfect time, perfect order, ready to fling him off like so much waste and keep moving without a hitch.
The greatest beauty in the world, he reflected, was that which was unattainable.
He was ready. Squaring his shoulders, Professor James Moriarty marched up the ledge and into the unknown.