Up far above, I was worthless and small. Bouncing from cloud to cloud, the cold winds carried me for miles. My thoughts and dreams were forgotten once the sun went down and it got colder. Bits of ice clung to me. I liked to think the ice was my suit. It became my identity, and it felt like I was really alive!
I jumped to another cloud and glided, welcoming the cold. I felt older and wiser minute by minute. Then I reached a point where the weight of my suit prevented me from gliding, and I fell, spiraling, to the land below. The new day began; was it Christmas morning already? I was terrible at dates. I saw a church, roofs, a snowman, and kids playing on top of a hill, sledding at fast speeds over large ramps. They tumbled and laughed. One child, I called her the golden one, looked at me as I rushed towards her. She stuck out her tongue, and I landed there. It was warm; my life ended.
|Lucien Desar is an author, composer and actor. He lives in New York with his wife Leonora.|