As he approached the leg, his head grew light.
He hadn’t learned to force his diaphragm.
He’d read, however, something to recite:
“If nothing else, I’m learning who I am.”
The morning sun was reaching o’er the trees
behind his head—at least he’d planned that much—
and, with the light, it brought a little breeze.
They both revived him with their gentle touch.
He drew a breath, then shifted back a bit.
His trailing foot prepared a spot of ground.
He’d fallen ere he knew that he was hit.
He registered the impact, then the sound.
Someone had tagged his backside with a rock.
He fell down more from fear than from the blow.
Prone on the ground, and paralyzed from shock,
he heard a woman yelling, “Where’d you go?
“If nothing else…”: What’s that? Did I hear something? Okay, so technically it’s not dialog at this point, since he believes himself to be alone, but at least it’s a human voice.
©2010 Louis A. Merrimac
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