Image by Christine Renney
He leans over the rail and gazes down. The Precinct is big and it is flat and featureless and, if it wasn’t for the people, the paved areas, the walkways and the communal squares would be indistinguishable from the roofs of the buildings. It is a rough sketch, an idea at best. A still from a film, a panoramic view of nowhere.
The wind is trying its hardest to push him back, to keep him from the edge. But gripping the rail with both hands he holds firm. There is an old newspaper at his feet. He nudges at it with the toe of his boot. Wet from the rain, it is sodden and heavy. He tries to dislodge it from its resting place but the newspaper is stuck to the gravel and the felt. Holding onto the rail with one hand he crouches and, using the other, he works it free.
He stands and, nudging again with his foot, he slides the newspaper over the edge. But it doesn’t drop, doesn’t plummet as he thought it would, as he had hoped it would. Taken by the wind the newspaper erupts noisily above his head. He turns and, moving away from the rail, he watches its sheets flapping and flailing.
The Brokedown Pamphlet 
And yet one seemingly insignificant action may still have some unforeseen consequence. Your words are as bleak as the scene and as such work well, Mark.
Thank you Chris.
Oh I like this one. It’s almost as if he’s rescued a bird….
Wow! I like that Jana. Thank you.
So cool Mark! The density of the piece and its sodden, heavy course erupted so unexpectedly. All of a sudden, out of nowhere (for a moment) the sun breaks the clouds. And one is forced to second thoughts.
Thank you Chris, that’s really good to hear.
Someone needs to interview you, Mark. You’re a fascinating writer and I wanna know what the hell it is that goes on in that brilliant mind of yours.
That’s a real compliment Tony. Thank you so much.
A nice study of the simple present.
Thank you.