The corollary to flying is falling.
Flying
He knew what it was like to fly.
He remembered the feel of the rings in his hands, the rosin on his palms. The braces on his fingers. The second skin of the spandex coating him from shoulders to ankles. The dust on his feet, the strain in his toes...
It didn't matter what the clock said. 0.3 seconds always felt like an eternity.
He remembered the moment of the downswing and when he would begin to fly. Letting go of the rings so they couldn't hold him back. Arching back into the swing, twisting in a somersault, dancing in the air itself with nothing holding him up but the strength of his own downswing. Nothing but grace and movement even as the world stopped. Everything stopped, himself the only living thing. The only point of action in the entire world of silence.
He remembered stretching out to meet the ground, his bare feet reaching for its embrace. They always took the brunt of the impact, slamming him down on the ground as if in punishment for his hubris.
He remembered the roar of the crowd, the approval of the judges, the burn in his legs and chest as the world started up again. As time began. As reality returned and he was once again earthbound.
Humans don't fly.
But Lionel Lancer knew better. For 0.3 seconds he would fly. Every time.
Falling
He knew what it was like to fly.
He'd lived for those 0.3 seconds when gravity would lose her hold over him and he would throw himself into the air to defy her, defy expectation, defy everything and everyone. Defy the jocks who'd beat him for his passion for cheerleading. Defy the parents who didn't believe someone of his height could ever be a gymnast. Defy the coaches who didn't believe he would ever make it this far. Defy the judges who didn't believe he could successfully complete such intricate aerial tricks.
Defy gravity. And then... when it counted the most... gravity decided she would no longer be defied.
1984. He was a few precious points away from a coveted spot on the alternate team. All he had to do was nail the landing here and he'd be going to Los Angeles. He'd be in the Olympics. Even if he never got to compete he'd have gotten that far.
He remembered it all. Every moment was forever etched in his memory to be relived over and over in his nightmares. Always what could have been. What he could have been. What could have happened.
What almost happened.
He could still feel the muscle tear in the downswing. His hands slipped as physics tore at him, claws of reality grabbing him as he tried to fly. Grabbing him, ripping him to shreds, yanking him down...
He remembered slamming onto the mat. It didn't feel right. He... he couldn't feel his legs...
Lionel Lancer knew what it felt like to fly. He also knew what it felt like to fall.
People always said humans were never meant to fly.
Maybe... maybe they were right.
He would never fly again.