The old man

     The people moved in the square as always. An intricate dance between anonymous human beings as though each person was instructed beforehand. People muttering pardons, pushing through, but all intertwined as if cosmic beings forced them into a single, writhing flesh. From his apartment, the old man always watched but had never taken part in such choreographed insanity. Except, as his time became shorter and his body grew weaker, his mind became willful. It longed to just once feel the flow of bodies around his, the push and pull of that wave of humanity, the warmth of one thousand strangers, all touching. He at first dismissed this longing; an old man’s dream of his glory days. He felt the night belonged to the young, not the old and decrepit, the sick and frail like him. Still, his mind pushed and pleaded, longing for one more taste of that lust each person unknowingly had for the other. Suddenly, everything was different. While his body was weakest, he felt his mind break itself free; away from his pride and civility. He knew at that moment he would no longer be able to resist such beautiful temptations as that courtyard of humanity. So, that night, the old man took that fatal step off his balcony and fell the four stories. As his shattered body was lying on the ground, the man finally felt the one thing he longed for.

Reviews

[Jessica R.]

Wow. This story was so grotesque and beautiful at the same time-- I love it! It's such a different idea, and the way you wrote is simply amazing. Good job!

[Katie Foutz Voss]

This was grotesque. And beautiful. I love your choice of words---it makes me smile when someone has a broad vocabulary. My only advice would be to use a spellchecker. Not a lot of huge mistakes, but even the smallest error distracts from the power of words.

Nicely done. :)