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Michael Brown

The Human Spirit can never be paralyzed. If you are breathing, you can dream.

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A Short Story

A wind blows gently in the night, filling the place where I just left. Whistling down the beaten path, through trees that are green and amongst the fallen brush. Is this just wind or is this something else?

The trees bend and bow as the wind gains speed crashing towards me like an animal stalking it’s prey. Faster it comes charging and announcing it’s existence. The wind screams now calling to me, giving me chills.

I turn to run, I don’t want this wind. It will change me. It will mold me. It will fill me. I start to run, banging into trees, as branches slam into me cutting my flesh as I hurry by. The wind does not stop it never breaks course. I hear it closer.

The wind fills my thoughts as I stumble and fall. I look down and see blood streaming from my knee. I get up resilient to the last. I cry out to the Lord for wisdom, but I hear nothing.

I see onlookers scoffing and pointing at me. Some cheer me on as I continue my struggle climbing up what seems like an Everest of a mountain. I look back and see the wind bearing down on me.

I continue forward sprinting with all of my strength. My chest is pounding and my legs are heavy with an aching pain that shoots up and down my whole body.

Ahead is a cliff sharp and rugged. Should I jump or do I accept the wind’s fate for me? I yell out for help and no help comes. I sink to the ground for I am completely broken.

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