Sky Dove

I lifted the ear protector slightly to see how loud the plane was with the door open, then reflexively let it snap back onto my head when the wall of noise bashed me over the head. The air is thinner at 15,000 feet above the world, but it doesn’t sound any thinner. I checked my parachute bag one last time and readier myself by the door. The light turned green and I stepped out into pure gravity, spinning for fun.

The air cushioned me and that perfect feeling of weightlessness settled in. I grinned as I rolled and spun in the air. The horizon swung in and out of view, and the earth below somehow remained distant even as I raced towards it. I checked my altimeter. It was time to slow my descent. My hand felt cold and stiff from the wind I’d whipped through, but the parachute cord pulled easily away from the pack.

Too easily. It seemed to be broken. I tried it again but nothing happened. I gave it a final sharp pull, and the handle came off in my hands. I switched over to the backup parachute. That handle felt tight and wouldn’t even budge when I yanked on it with both hands. Everything I could see held very still. I looked out towards the horizon, and I could see trees silhouetted against the rising sun. Grassy fields stretched out below me in every direction.

I stopped the panic that was coursing through my body, unclipped the parachute bag, threw it as hard as I could, and watched it spin away from me. The ground was growing closer now. The horizon grew further and further away as I neared the green of the earth. I looked, but didn’t see any buildings. I swung back over and looked up towards the sky.