DISCLAIMER: 'The West Wing' and all related materials are the sole property of Aaron Sorkin, NBC, and various other capitalist strongholds. Fight the power, but if you want to pay for this, pay them, you fool.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I said I was working on Sam, but he doesn't want to be a victim just yet, so I pulled names out of a hat, and CJ won.

URL: http://www.angelfire.com/bc2/allcanadiangirl



Parachutes

By BJ Garrett

You recall fondly the little plastic parachutes your brother used to attach to his army men. He would tie them together with your hair elastics and drop them off the landing at the top of the stairs, watch them float down and land in your father's lap or in the cat's box. He would giggle and turn to look at you with gaping teeth and you would giggle back.

Now you wonder how the army men felt, if they were afraid, if

the words have no place to come out, your mouth is full, and they are calling you again.

You grip the edges of the door, put a foot out into the air, you are not afraid, you open your mouth, ready, ready

as their voices become yours. You have nothing to hide, nothing to jettison, nothing to let the wind tear apart before they find it. But your voice is lost anyway.

You look down, see paper and post-its, see the ground far below, see farmland and scarred wood. Cities overflowing onto statistics and the words

words

words like parachutes billowing above you, you hold the strings, you feel the give and the take and are perfectly, utterly aware of how much you are throwing away.

Their hands obscure your vision, the flashes blind you further, you don't know, you step again, into the air, eyes closed, let go of the door.

air perfectly safe, utterly utterly alone in the air, no one can stop you, you are falling, gravity pulls, there are no rules but gravity and nothing you say will be heard by anyone else, you grip the helmet, you grip the tassel, think about not pulling the chute open

scream everything you were ever afraid to say out loud

words like rain, words like hail, like golf-ball-sized hail, plunging towards you, snowballs, bullets, bullets they want to kill you, to watch you die in a pool of your own blood

falling through the air, thousands of feet between you and the ground, it is exhilarating, it is freedom, and this is what you've been fighting for, you finger the tassel, let the wind snap it away, imagine impact

it's the thought that counts

you have nothing to hide, nothing, the air takes it all away, flings it far, lets farmers and ranch hands find it sticking out of snow drifts

you imagine the body-shaped imprint like Wile E. Coyote in the canyon, but it is snow, white with a blue heart, and you are enclosed by it, it is a comfort

the ground comes closer, the bullets hit you, hit you, you are not wearing Kevlar, you are absolutely full of lead and the tips explode inside you, you hope there are no fail safes

your parachute opens.

You damn the fail safes, look up,

take questions.

We refuse to act like victims.



End.