On the tightrope
It was snowing, it was a sunless afternoon. The rope was stretched from one end of the building to the other.
Walking on the tightrope, a thin wire of flexible metal fibers, I took steps with absolute safety.
There were many spectators today, many everywhere. They were from all over the world. With a slight glance he could see the flags of the distant nations of the East. None of that mattered to him, all the attention was futile. He was only interested in crossing the rope or falling off it, either one was fine for him.
Within the multitude of camera flashes there was one that secretly gave him special attention and focus. She was a short girl with a robust body.
He was a quarter of the way to the finish line and a safe surface. Suddenly he stopped suddenly, something was wrong. Of course it was, it had been for a long time. He put one foot off the rope, closed his eyes and arbitrarily lost his perfect balance.
Falling into the void, it takes just over 12 seconds to crash into the ten-foot mattress of fresh snow. Shit, don't take the snow into account, he thought. He lost consciousness.
When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed. She was there of course, as she had always been. On her chest she was resting her head and her right hand. Between her fingers was the picture of when she was dropping. She had always been his first and last fan. Tears began to flow from his eyes.
Thanks for this beautiful write up!