Does he Fall or Fly? (18th September 2008)

(I wrote this at work one time on a little writing pad and only just found it while cleaning my room -1st January 2009)

The weather is exquisite.
There’s a soft breeze blowing that makes the trees sway ever so gently.
The green overwhelmed by the concrete, but still, everything is almost idyllic.
At least from where I’m sitting.

The droll and boring environment coupled with tremendously dull conversation makes for a delight to exit.
The filing of papers and the organization of the filing,
The post-its and the pens and Kangaroo’s punch,
All coloured vibrant pink, purple and blue,
Shiny and well coated but utterly monochrome.

Underneath all of the hustle
And behind all the bustle,
Sits a young man getting a feel of his surroundings.
An average young fellow probably yearning to earn
And earning to learn
And start a career that’s lucrative and profitable and enough to make a living
And more to save for later
And to buy a car and make rent
And pay for tuition and possibly, yes possibly,
Buy that motorcycle he always wanted.
But is he really that guy?

He sits
Bored out of his wits
How much longer must he smile politely at the woman sitting at the desk to the right in accounting who doesn’t look like she’s changed in days?
She’s probably just scared of change; to change.
She doesn’t want what he wants.
If he wants other things, why must he sit there?
You have to wait your turn and you have to play only after your cards are dealt and you can NOT put all your eggs in one basket, he is told.
But he can feel it. It’s his ace in the hole.
BIG OR BUST.

The breeze hits his face as he stares down twenty storeys.
HE JUMPS.
Does he fall or fly?

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