Bad Days Parade

Bad days flocked to him. He was their fodder.

They followed him or rather paraded his life.

If he could spread his arms now, he could fly.

He heard mirth climbing the walls. Celebratory banter emanating from people on the street and the ones he could see through every window. The rooftop was a great vantage point.
Next, 10 minutes would transform into a past year. Countdown to the year, he could run away from. He had a choice.

It was a classic example of the worst-case scenario. It was comedic, kid you not. He stood there taking it all in before he could fly away like a bat out of hell. Cliché? Yes but this was the best version of hell for him.

You think he could have a better worse?
The year had chalked up to be really one of that. He had lost Emily, his only sibling. The news pulled up a special piece that day, peppering the fantastic coverage with statistics of drunk driving. Bratty underage kids, drinking. I believe he also saw a debate on  the appropriate age of drinking, law etc. As if a law can prevent human stupidity. He projectile vomited on the very carpet Emily gave him for his 28th birthday.
The drunk teen apparently got away with only a fractured rib, Emily’s car leapt off the bridge onto heavy traffic. And that was that. There was no happy ending or rather there was most definitely – one ending.

Thereafter shortly, his father fell sick. It was all too fast. His father thought it was indigestion, by night it transformed to a fatal heart attack. Another life, gone.
He believed losing Emily broke his father’s heart. Losing a child does a number on a parent, he had heard. It right out sucked the soul out of his father. Poof.

He moved towns, grief chased him with pitchforks. New job and uprooted life, kept him floating for a while. It was the worst possible time to make such a change. He was the new guy at this bigshot corporate firm. Recession, layoffs again geared up to screw him up.
Last, in first out, they said.

Basically, last year tempted him to fly. The bad year gloated itself of all its miseries and led him here. 5 minutes until the clock ticked 12’o clock. He looked around him, deep in thought. I lurked just behind.
He needed to make a decision now. He needed to decide how he was going to deal with consequences of this eventful year.
Was he going to fight or flight? The thought made me laugh. It was going to be delightful, his choice.

The mirth that surrounded him to the rooftop was eventually the deciding factor. He frowned, looked up at the starless blinking sky and inhaled. He flew.
Landed on the curb.
I caught him just after the medics lifted him off. He chose flight, and boy was I delighted.

Just another day of dealing death warrants. Mind you, I deal only when they let me.

So did I tell you about that building engulfing in flames?

Image Feature: Splitshire

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