7:45 p.m.
Ernest looked up at the sky one evening and imagined that he could fly. Of course, being wheelchair-bound and elderly, he knew he couldn't really fly, but no one could stop him from thinking it.
As he flew in his mind, he broke the sound barrier and whizzed through the stratosphere, ultimately spinning through outer space, all alone.
"This is nice," Ernest said as he floated at great speeds, burning through the Solar System.
Ernest was never a very sociable man. He was quiet, polite, and thoughtful - one who could never be confused for a follower of Bacchus. It was his way, the road to introspection and solitude.
As Ernest sped through the Milky Way, his pace accelerated until he found himself blasting through galaxy after galaxy at dizzying velocities.
"I wonder where I'm going," the old man thought aloud. "Oh well. I'll just enjoy the ride."
Eventually, Ernest could see a thick haze in the distance that increasingly enveloped his entire field of vision. He had reached the edge of the Universe. No one knew what lay beyond its precipice.
When Ernest reached the thick plasma that enshrouded the boundaries of the elliptical Universe, he hardly had a moment to contemplate his situation as he flew right through the substance into the great beyond.
As soon as Ernest reached the other side, he stopped and found himself sitting in an open field. A meadow of some sort by a small pond.
"Ebony Orchard," Ernest mused. "This is where I grew up. I'm home!"
As the sun set over his lifeless body, the sun rose over his lively spirit.
7:56 p.m.
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1 comment:
I like it. This has a peaceful but adventurous tone to it.
It's good to do little writing exercises to keep sharp. I should get back into that.
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