Reviera hurtles down the abyss. Down-down--down-down--down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, he counts. 5. 5 fingers counting 5 seconds. 5 seconds of my finite life. Were they good? Ummmmm so-so.

These days Reviera likes to hurtle back-first. He spends his time looking back on his past hurtle. Ah, he says to himself, that was a fine hurtle. I remember back in the day when I was hurtling past that old crack in the mountain. Hurtling was so exciting then, so fresh. Back in the day Reviera used to hurtle face first, with the wind in his face. He couldn't really see where he was going, but that didn't bother him. The emotionless tears streamed out of his eyes, up his cheeks, glanced off his brilliant smile and faded away into oblivion. Those were the days.

These days Reviera spends his hurtle more cautiously. He has that prickly feeling in the back of his neck. Ground. It's not a thought for the faint of heart and not a thought for Reviera, though he isn't faint of heart or thought. Why think about things beyond our control?

Sometimes, but not often, Reviera shares his hurtle. "Hey you!", he calls out, "let's make like one of those free fall stunt teams, let's make something beautiful". Other hurtlers usually respond positively... but in the end they are each on their own hurtle... nothing will change that.

Make a mark Reviera. A mark? Yeah, a mark, a stain, a scratch, claw at that face-of-abyss, bite at it. Reviera reaches out and tries to scratch. Instead, face-of-abyss scratches Reviera. That hurt. Well, no pain no stain, right Reviera? But why stain? Well everyone leaves a stain on the Ground, that's no biggie. To leave a stain on face-of-abyss... that's a Challenge.

Reviera turns his back on me in disgust and inadvertantly catches sight of Ground. He winces, turns around and forces his fist into stolidly indifferent face-of-abyss. "A scratch!" he declares proudly. All that's left of his fist is a stump.

What does it all mean?