A Delhi Morning

Sudden fiction

The city was reeling under his outstretched hands. Up there on the precipice of a roof 75 stories high the wind lapped against his face. His light coffee colored fingers felt the pulse of a constant stream flowing beneath him.
Each passing second with his eyes closed to the morning sun he was trying to be separate, to be different, to see his own significance.
A breeze blew the black curls from his face, he thought what brought him here. He yearned to be other than a voice in the deafening roar of this city.

"how do I make a new path in a world already paved?"

That brought him to a ledge, seeing the world being already so blatantly paved. He breathed in the fresh air separate fundamentally from the air in the streets, prayed to a God he had long since abandoned. The Sun returned from behind a cloud and warmed his face. Then, he took
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Author's Note

I started with this image of a man on a ledge with the sun in his face and tried to explore what he might be thinking, and to do it as clearly and as quickly as possible