art by Seth Alan Bareiss
Don't Look Down
by Anatoly Belilovsky
My body remembers what I cannot.
My hands move to the sides, legs move apart, knees bend.
A whistling in my ears: wind. It's called wind. I'm flying, flying in the wind, under the blue that's called the sky, toward the brown that's called the ground. I feel it push my hands, my legs, my face. I feel a weight against my back. Pack? Heavier by the second. "Ten, nine, eight…"
Mate. Late. Fate. Foot. Boot.
A figure flies into my sight. She waves her hand. She is wearing gloves. She loves. She loves me.
Of course she loves me, she is my daughter!
The sky is blue, the sun is bright, the ground is brown. I close my eyes and all is white where memories should be. What is that droning noise? "De plane, Boss!"
White suit. White dress. Wedding.
Glasses. Rings. "To have, to hold, till dying do us part."
A man steps out of the white: black hair. A smile. And boots. Boots on the ground. Combat boots. Combat drop. Black op.