Firelight Relief
The young man with curly raven hair gazed at the purple-bruised sky. He felt the cold bite of early morning and the coarse rasp of ground beneath his bare feet. The shrill chirping of birds stirring against the dawn could be heard for miles in this quiet forest by the lake. If the man were to get in trouble, his cries for help would not be heard by anything but the dense air and ripples of wind. The tangle of snow-capped mountains and low rising mist added to the feeling of isolation. But these lonely smudges of gray and pale light were necessary for his plan to carry through.
As if sensing the time has come, the wind picks up, swirling leaves until they are a frothing green foam. The dark surface of the lake had remained still and smooth until then, as clear as a polished mirror. The man is already walking forward, toward the water's edge. His pace quickens and soon he is sprinting, hurtling himself forward at top speed, he forces a savage breath, his hair rippling like a flag in the fierce wind he creates. The young man with raven hair has reached the edge of the quiet lake and he jumps high into the air. The feeling of flying is an overwhelming happiness. His thoughts unfettered and clear, is a welcome reprieve from the chaos at home.
Now is the moment when gravity will pull him down, the initial energy of take-off wearing out and once again becoming trapped to the earth's surface like a prisoner. Only he doesn't fall, the beautiful raven keeps going, his wings unfurling with a soft whisper. Their gossamer width spanning twice the length of his back. His skin grows scales that glow a red so bright you feared he was on fire. The man's nose morphed into small ridges, his nostrils flaring with newly heightened senses. His green eyes grew impossibly large, the pupils constricting into thin black slits, like a sharp ink stroke on emerald paper. The wiry membranes stretching to their full length, and he soars. The young man skimmed the empty lake, laughing lightly at the simple joy of being free.
For now, as the pale yellow ball rises and reflects its loveliness on the secluded lake, he can be himself, unguarded and safe in his own world of red-gold luster and gray-green leaves.