The Skydive

Vincent was standing at the ground camp with an excited expression on his face. The last few weeks had been the biggest adventure of his life. He'd spent them learning how to jump out of an aeroplane: flying at 12,000 feet over a skydiving resort in Empuria Brava, Spain. Today was going to be his final day. Hopefully, today would be the day that he passed his skydiving qualification; a qualification which would be the envy of all his friends back home. He had already performed several jumps. This was the first jump where he would be engaging in complete unassisted free-falling. His training so far had served him well and he felt confident plummeting through the sky, like an arrow in flight. However, at this moment his hands were sweating. He felt his nerves crawling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't the jump that frightened him. He had jumped enough times now to know how to suppress his nervousness, at least a little. Something scarier was looming over his head. Today he was about to propose to his girlfriend.

She was standing just a little away from him, smiling at him as he rigged his parachute. Serendipity was slim and curvy in all the right places. Every male in the camp was ogling her, thinking that Vincent was a very lucky man; wishing they were in his position. He was sure Serendipity would be watching from the ground. She would see him falling at break-speed towards the ground below. He then planned to deploy the chute allowing the white blanket canopy to blossom in the sky. Some simple but powerful words had been embossed on the parachute:

'I love you Serendipity! Will you marry me?'

He could imagine her smile beaming, her eyes glistening as she read the message. It was of simple words and Serendipity took pleasure in simple things. Many often thought she seemed cold, but Vincent knew this was all a façade. At least he thought he did.

Adding to her curvature was one large bulge centered around her naval. She was pregnant with Vincent's baby. It had been over seven months now; in forty days she was expected to deliver. A child would be born into this world which Vincent could call his own: to be nurtured and taught how exciting life can be. The sides of Vincent's lips curled upwards as he imagined his adolescent son's and his bodies flying in tandem through the azure sky. A sense of unity being created; a sense of excitement and adventure being shared between father and son. He couldn't wait.

The camp seemed to shake as a loud, low-pitched cacophony emerged from the vicinity. Vincent took a deep breath as he felt the breeze of the Cessna aeroplane's propellers against his long, dark hair. A man with a red jumpsuit opened the side door of the vehicle and beckoned him inside. Vincent zipped up his scarlet jumpsuit and headed towards his plane. The man spoke with heavy Russian accent to greet Vincent and introduce himself:

"I'm Ivor, I veell bae your instructor today,." he said and then pointed to a man in a yellow and black striped jumpsuit, "and zees is our second buddy, Viktor."

"Hallo," said Viktor in a similar accent, "I look forward to jump."

"What happened to my previous instructor, " asked Vincent.

"He's seeck" Said the two Russians together, "but don't warry, ve already did 5000 jumps."

Vincent glanced from Viktor to Ivor, trying to judge each man's character from their glazed eyes. Their expressions seemed cold. Ivor had a low jaw, large horse-like teeth, raised cheek bones and a bald head. Viktor's facial features were a little less harsh, but looked equally intimidating under his scraggly beard and dread-locked hair. Although Ivor's build was broad, Viktor looked supple and agile. He had a strong feeling of mistrust towards the two men; he tried not to let it show. Besides, he would soon be diving out of a plane and wouldn't have anything to do with these men. He was skilful enough manipulate himself through the air alone. His mind dreamily drifted back to earth. The image of Serendipity's beautiful face helped him calm his nerves.

The plane took off. Vincent remembered how his emotions were in the passenger seat several days ago. His nerves had been swimming in his stomach. He had almost felt as if he wanted to throw up. Nonetheless, these days had long past and he'd now learnt to control his fears. His slightly weathered, rugged face was showing a relaxed disposition. His eyes displayed calmness and he was focused on the task ahead. Once the plane doors had opened, he would pull out, push in, and throw himself into the open. As he was falling, he would need to straighten his limbs and arch his back, sinking his belly to keep his centre of gravity low. This would stabilise him; stopping him spinning to oblivion. Following would be thirty seconds of exhilarating free fall. When he was ready to deploy he would reach behind his back, grab the pilot chute, and throw it into the air-stream. This would pull the parachute open. Written on it would be his message of unrequited love, displayed to the observers below. Serendipity was amongst them. She couldn't possibly refuse such a brave, passionate proposition. Vincent was certain that this was to be a special day: one of many happy memories.

The pilot shouted back into the cabin, "ok... Time to rumble."

Igor opened the side-door and readied himself by its left edge. Viktor moved behind the doors and signalled for Vincent to come forward. He stood up and sidled slowly towards the opening.  He felt a cold wind against his face and he remembered the his gut wrenching feeling during his first jumps. He positioned himself to the right of the doorway and crouched. This was perhaps the easiest part; it relied purely on adrenaline. He had to count to three. 'One': he pulled his head and body a little out of the plane, keeping his feet rooted firmly to the ground.  'Two': he pushed against the doorway, forcing his body and head back inside. 'Three:' He pulled one last time; his head lead his body into the void below. Once again he'd done it. He was accelerating towards terminal velocity through the air. Igor and Viktor followed closely in pursuit. Their role was to restore his body position on the first sign of any trouble. To stop him spinning into oblivion in case he couldn't stop himself.

Vincent felt as if the whole of the earth had pushed back up against him. His head was pushed upwards first, causing him to flip twice backwards. 'Stabilise,' Vincent thought as he remembered to arch his back and straighten his limbs. Sure enough, it worked; his stomach sunk below his body. It was now time for some aerial stunts. He performed a couple a barrel roll, dropping his right shoulder and letting his body spin around it's natural axis. He screamed with exhilaration as the ground and sky revolved around him. He performed another. No-one could hear him as his voice was lost to the wind. Next were somersaults where he tucked his head into his chest; adopting a foetal position which sent him into a tumble. He returned to his basic arched position, and checked the altimeter on his wrist. He was at 7000 feet. In a few seconds he would deploy. 

The wind fought against him as he sped towards the ground. Slow motion proved impossible; each movement violently forced him into a new position. He reached behind his back to search for the pilot-chute. His arm was thrown quickly against his backpack where the chute lay. He struggled to launch it, but managed. Vincent felt the earth pull away from him again. The parachute had deployed. Below he heard a magnificent bang. One of the warehouses at the camp had exploded. People were scurrying along the ground, like ants. A strong sickly feeling came over Vincent. He felt himself start to panic. 'What had happened on the ground? Was Serendipity safe?' He rolled his head in the direction of the canopy above him and registered a sudden feeling of shock. Above him was not his declaration of love. Vincent's message was not there. Instead, in red, there was another message. A message so hurtful, so painful:

"I'm sorry... I'm in love with someone else."

He saw it hurtling towards him. A shape in the distance, like a giant insect. The bright sunlight reflected off its yellow stripes. It wasn't a wasp; it was Viktor. His form was sleek. His legs were curled upwards. His arms were clenched around his low belly. His hands were cradled around a giant knife. Its blade was long and curved. He moved with such elegance; his wasp-like form was speeding towards one point; its very target - the parachute itself. Turning to his left, Vincent saw the horrific sight of Ivor hanging from his parachute, motionless. A 9mm hole had been bored into Igor's head. Someone on the ground must have shot him...

"Serendipity," Victor thought, "how could you?"

Then he heard it - a large rip as Viktor's knife tore through his parachute. The earth pulled Vincent back towards it. He could feel himself accelerating downwards; faster and faster. His parachute was now useless. He had about twenty seconds before his bones would crumple into the ground. He needed to act fast. What could he do? Wait... He remembered the reserve parachute. If only he could deploy it. But first, he would need to lose the main parachute. How to do that again? Of course, the release cord behind his back. He just had to pull it and - woosh! It floated away.

His acceleration increased. It wouldn't be long now. Had Serpendipity or Viktor destroyed the reserve? He checked his altimeter. It was at 800m. It should have been deployed... But it hadn't. He had only a few seconds left. Three.... Two.... Bang! A minute explosion in his backpack expelled the canopy. It pulled him upwards slowing down his speed greatly as he collided with the grassy ground. But, oh, with what force he did. He felt a sharp pain searing through his legs. They skidded hard in front of him, pulling his torso backwards. His hindquarters hit the ground and he was brought to a halt.

He was lying there, unable to move his legs, the supporting cords of the reserve parachute traipsed behind him. A familiar figure was towering over him. She was silhouetted against the amber evening sun. Her shadow was long and shed greyness over Vincent's face. In her arms she was holding a heavy duty rifle. It was pointed straight at Vincent's forehead.

"Serendipity..." whispered Vincent as a sharp pain shot again through his lower limbs.

"I thought I asked Viktor to remove the reserve," she said coldly.

"Serendipity... why?" he said.

She'd done well to keep a cold face to this point, but tears welled in her eyes. She fought them back and exclaimed with bitterness, "You'd never understand."

She pulled the trigger. The bullet penetrated Vincent's skull. He felt no pain.

His consciousness faded, and faded, and drifted. It drifted to a new place, another dimension. Time was now limitless. He could travel forwards and backwards as he pleased. Free in space, free in time. He could discover what really happened. He had to go back. Back to a time well before he was shot. Back to a time well before his skydiving course.

He traversed through the fabric of time until he understood. Then he was ready to travel into the future. He had to decide on his new life. He had to chose the host for his reincarnation. It became obvious to him where he was meant to go. He chose his own son. His soul could put things right. Truly avenge those who had caught great pain to himself. To hunt down the man who had caused his dear girlfriend and mother-to-be to have destroyed her child's father. He must pay.

His conciousness faded. Each one of his memories diminished into nothingness. His mind was once again becoming simple. Once again returning to the very start of the circle of life. But forever in this boy's life one memory was to remain. Buried deep inside his subconscious the memory of his own mother: the killer. It would haunt his very dreams. But not yet... For Jeremy Migauke was just about to be born.

   

The Snowman

The Snowman

I was only seven years old on the Christmas morning I first saw the cartoon on television. It was the familiar story of a young boy who built a snowman which came to life and showed him the world. I felt inspired by such a story and being such a young child, it piqued my curiosity. ‘What would happen if I could build such a large snowman, would it come alive, just like the snowman on the television?’ Such fascination filled my mind with pleasure, as I ran through all the fantasies of the little adventures I could have with a living snowman. The places he could take me. The mountains I could see. The marvellous buildings we could explore together. A huge adventure awaited me, and as far as my imagination was concerned, all it would take was a matter of time and snow until I could achieve it. Alas, no snow settled on the ground that year, and it wasn’t until the following year, that my childhood dreams began to be realized. For it was on the afternoon of the Christmas Eve when I was eight years old, I witnessed the whitest Christmas that I’d seen in my life.

I remember sitting on the living room sofa, watching in fascination as each snowflake seemed to materialise in mid-air and float gently down, like a feather to the blanket of white beneath it. I must have sat there for hours, as I watched each flake drift to its target, as a soft, featherlike mass piled on the bleached surface below. First there were just a few patches on ground, but with each cannonade of snow, my heart raced with excitement, as the white carpet became thicker and thicker. When the flurry stopped for a while, my heart felt frozen in suspense, as I waited for the next outbreak from the heavens. Being quite religious at the time, I felt that a real gift was coming from above. I could feel something wonderful happening; each speck of this frosty dust from the sky would breathe life into my snowman. It was due to grant me with the answer to my wishes, what I wanted to be the most memorable experience of my life.

When I saw the snow was several inches thick, I decided it was time start building the body which would form the receptacle for the snowman’s soul. I was only in my pyjamas at the time, and I knew much had to be done, before my dreams could be realized. Although I was young, I realised that no magic was likely to happen, unless I put in some work of my own. Added to which, time was getting short; it was already 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and it was likely to get dark by four. Something was telling me in my mind that if I didn’t finish the snowman by nightfall, then he would never come to life.

I raced upstairs, and without showering or brushing my teeth, found a pair of briefs and some warm socks, adorning them with lack of care about the fact the underwear was inside-out. Lying on my bed was a present from my parents, of which I was very proud; a pair of fleecy trousers which I knew would keep me warm. Inside my wardrobe was also a black and white jumper with thin horizontal stripes, knitted for me by my Grandma last Christmas alongside a matching red hat and scarf.  I didn’t think however that I would be warm enough in my current attire, and so I sneaked downstairs grabbing my favourite warm blanket. I wrapped it around my head and body, as if it was a poncho, and glanced myself up and down in the mirror. I seemed to have obtained a strange druidic appearance, causing me to resemble a small member of a black magic wielding occult. Perhaps in retrospect this image suited my intentions quite well.

I was now ready to embrace the bitter chill of the outdoors. I flung open the kitchen door to the back garden, and felt the cold air against my face, and the pleasant warmth as it trapped itself between the blanket and my skin. The garden was small, with about an acre of grass in the middle, and although the grass was long from not being mowed this winter, not a speck of green could be seen on the white tapestry before me.  The snow was deeper on the lawn than the pavement and I gleefully ran towards to test the thickness. When I was in the centre, I spun around with youthful energy, and collapsed backwards on the snow, arms akimbo. Like a seagull, I then flapped my arms up and down, as to carve a shape in the snow. After about a minute of my arms slicing through the soft powder underneath my body, I stood up to view my masterpiece. I marvelled at the majesty of the imprint of a small angel which I had drawn into the snowy turf. Looking just above the kitchen window, I realized this was placed under the spot which the back-garden floodlight highlighted at night. Perhaps the divine power of an angel underneath coupled with the powerful glow of this light, could breathe a glorious vitality into my new friend to be.

I picked up around a handful of snow, and condensed it, until the delicate texture became solid and dense. Laying the ball on the snow, I rolled it slowly along the ground, allowing the snowball to increase in size, as if it was growing out of the ground itself. As it grew I noticed two things, not only did the ball become heavier and more difficult to manoeuvre but it also became more difficult to steer, and felt often that it was taking on a life of its own. I had to take frequent breaks, as I found myself out of breath and sweating, from driving this large spheroid along the frozen terrain. However, using nearly all my strength, I was able to amass it to a height which almost reached my shoulders. With one last push, I rolled it over to the designated resting place and after a brief rest, started working on the head. This was a smaller ball and so didn’t take as much effort to create. Occasionally however I realized that the snow around me was becoming scarce and I had to negotiate my path along the patio in order to compensate for this. The second ball soon reached the size of a large man’s head, and was ready to be placed. I steered it over to, and with a swift heave, rolled it on top of the body. After hastily condensing the snow around the body, and took a few steps back, in hope that the top ball would remain and the snowman wouldn’t be condemned to headless doom. I felt a relief as the head stayed put, and revelled in the sight of the foundation of the snowman. I felt proud of my work so far, but I knew that the snowman was still missing a few important things. It was time to grant him the gifts of sight, hearing, smell and voice. 

I noticed that the sun was lying low in the sky, and I was fully aware of the pressure of dusk approaching. I rushed into the kitchen, and saw my Grandma was making preparations for dinner. The vegetables had not been prepared yet with about half a dozen carrots lying by the cooking stove, waiting to be peeled. Scanning the room, I also spotted the Christmas pudding, and a bowl of sultanas which weren’t deemed worthy enough to be part of its ingredients. I waited until my Gran’s back was turned, and just as she leaned down towards the oven I stealthily lunged forwards to steal a carrot and a handful of raisins. I concealed these quickly under my blanket and then looked in the cupboard for something more authentic. ‘A-ha, a tube of tomato ketchup,’ I thought, ‘I doubt we’ll be using this tonight.’ A quick scour of the entrance hallway also revealed a warm scarf and a cowboy hat which my father used as fancy dress for his work Christmas party. I stormed outside, determined to beat the sunset, placed the hat on the head and wrapped the scarf around its neck. The sultanas made perfect eyes, and with small amount of effort I forced the carrot into the hardened snow below them to create a long, distinctive nose. The mouth was made by running the tomato ketchup in an arc below the nose. I chuckled to myself. With one sweep of my hand, I’d given my snowman makeup, and transformed him into a snow-woman. I took a small retreat to admire my creation, feeling joyful with the blind faith that tonight she would become alive.

As I stood memorializing the statue, I took note of my creation’s imperfections. Her hat and nose seemed lopsided, and one eye was placed slightly below the other, creating a lack of symmetry in her face. There were dimples and knobbles all over the snow-woman’s body and face, where the snow had been compressed; giving rolling contours along a structure which I’d imagined as more globular. My awe was interrupted by the menacing silhouette of the neighbourhood fox amongst the garden fence. We locked eyes for a few seconds, before I turned my head. There was something deeply foreboding about the presence of this fox. I felt a sense of diffidence towards it, and although I wasn’t sure why at the time, the reasons for this I was soon to discover. I picked up a large scoop of snow and threw it with as much might as I could in the fox’s direction, watching its long shadow dissipate as it jolted into the dim twilight. It was just me and my snow-woman now, and I was going to let nothing else disturb this ritual of appreciation of her. I firmly believed she was soon to gain a spirit; a soul to add animosity to her current corporeal form. I couldn’t wait.

Night fell. I ate dinner with my family and then retired for an early night. Before sleeping I made sure that the floodlight was switched on, to give her a guiding beacon when she entered this world on Christmas morning. I set my alarm for midnight, as I thought that would be the time she was most likely to come alive. My head rested against the soft pillow and I feeling weary from my hard work, a deep sleep overcame myself. In my dreams, I saw a bright light which focused softly on the snow-woman, who was resting there. After a while, she let out an enchanting glow of her own, and arms and legs majestically grew out of her rotund body. The dark sky turned suddenly red, and the intimidating face of a fox approached my vision. It was the same fox that was acutely observing my actions before. I knew his intentions. He was here to prey on the snowman. All of my efforts meant nothing to him other than what he could have for Christmas dinner. The fox was evil, and I could see it in his eyes. But wait! The snow-woman was alive. I could hear the deep, baritone thumping of her feet as he turned her giant body to face the fox.  Inside her dark, black eyes I a glint, as the dull texture of the raisins had been transformed into slate, shiny pearls. In her eyes I could see reflections of the red sky around her and I could sense her rage. She was about to do battle with the fox. I knew she’d win. She was bigger, stronger. The fox was about to be finally defeated and my creation was here to ensure that justice prevailed. But with a strange vivacity, loud noises became clear in my ears. A fox was yapping, and what was that? A cat was screeching? There were no cats in my dream. Another sound entered into the dream, it was the ‘beep-beep-beep-beep’ of my alarm clock. My abdomen forced my upper body upwards. I sat awake in bed, feeling confused and dazed from my dream. What had just happened?

I leapt to the window to discover the twisted reality behind my dreams. It took me a while to focus on the scene, as the snow reflected the bright floodlight beam back towards my window, dazzling my eyes. My mouth dropped aghast at what I saw. I saw the snow-woman’s head which had been severed from the body, and was lying upside down on the ground. My eyes skimmed across to the body, which was in the same place but its base was looking much flatter than when I’d left it. There was a streak of blood across the chest of the body and sitting right on top of it, I saw him. He was glaring right at me, just like in the dream. It was the fox and he had come once again to prey on my creation. My very dreams were being hunted. He preyed on my fantasies of breathing life into her and in effect the childhood innocence, which I held so dear. I felt a deep hurt well up inside my stomach. I hated him. How could he do this to me? I looked around the room and my attention focused on a heavy boot, which looked dangerous enough to hurt the fox. I lifted it and flung it out of the window towards the fox. It was a good throw and hit him on the side of his thorax. He yelped and darted away into the night. I was left alone, crying with my hopes of a Christmas adventure in ruins. The snow-woman was meant to come to life. She was meant to show me the world, the mountains, the valleys, the amazing buildings. A large piece of me had been stolen, and all that remained was emptiness.

I walked downstairs, and heard voices coming from the living room. The door was left ajar and I was able to put my ear to it and push my eye to the opening. I could see the television and a man on the screen, with an incredibly elastic face. I still felt intense despair as I watched the way his lips and wrinkles seemed fold like paper whilst he read some lines from William Blake’s Augeries of Innocence:

“A dog starved at its masters gate

Predicts the ruins of the of the state.

A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare.

A fibre from the brain does tear.”

As I attentively listened, I thought in horror of the poor snow-woman lying there with her severed head. ‘What did she do to deserve this? She’d suffered the same fate as the dog, the horse, the hare; such mistreated creatures. What about the fox, why didn’t he suffer the same fate?’  Such thoughts kept spiralling round and round in my head, offering me no sympathy for my loss. The man’s speech came to an end, and I heard the final words of the poem, spoken with heartfelt passion:

"When we see not through the eye

Which was born in a night to perish in the night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light

To those poor souls who dwell in night,

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Thirty years have passed since I lived this story, and only now have I decided to write it. I concealed the truth of my story from my children for so long, as I always told them a different story. This was the fabrication of how I built a snow-woman who came to life, just like I remember from my fantasies. However now my children have grown through childhood and are reaching adulthood, I wrote this for them, so they understand the real story. I protected their innocence for so long, which ironically this story has been written to dispel. I do hope that they will remember for life the story that I told them that they were young, and pass it down to their children, and their children and their children after that. Because when people are young, childhood innocence is perhaps the most magical thing they have. One of the last things I’d want to see a man or woman do is to destroy a young one’s dreams, just as the fox did with mine. That would be the death of one of the greatest things the world can give us: the magic of being young enough to find doctrine in the imagination. 

Copyright 2009 Christopher Behrsin

Nature's Judgement

Wrote this when I was 21. Reading this is an inspiration to start writing again, hence this blog...

Nature's Judgement

Over the horizon I watch the sunrise.
I sight a cage where the ocean, restful, lies.
For bars I search, but none I find,
and steel girders, they do not bind.

But yet the cage is there, I know
For there is another place to go.
A place where nature thrives in tune,
With song sending sea towards the moon.

Towards a lonely boulder, I boldly stroll,
And up I climb, with ambitious soul.
Although small rock, each step I fight,
To reach the summit, of modest height.

As I grasp and grapple, my anger drives,
me towards the sky, my freedom strives.
Through the clouds, hail starts to rain.
I shall not make conquest without the pain.

But yet the rock I conquer, still.
The boulders' cracks, the heavens fill.
And I stand tall, to nature's side,
Still knowing there are faults I hide.

One day I know I shall find a way,
To that gloried place where I'll lay my grave.
But I shall not leave, until I complete,
The dance that sways to the oceans' beat.



Chris Behrsin