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?