Imagination

This is my Friday Flash Fiction entry for the week. I know, I know, I posted it on Saturday. So sue me.

Hanging on with one hand, he considered his alternatives. Two were all he could come up with at the moment. Having spent his life overwhelmed by too many choices, it seemed ironic to him that his life now boiled down to but two options. Both of which ended the same in the end. A colorful but probably was going to hurt like Hell death for the seconds it took to bounce down that canyon wall.

He could dangle there from that craggy precipice for as long as he could hold on. Fight, claw, refuse to cave and hang onto every moment he might have left. Or he could simply let go and get it over with. A or B. He saw no other way out of it.

A few moments had been spent considering that he did indeed have another good hand. It was attached to a perfectly good arm. He knew he would most likely double his chances of making it out alive if he chose to use his other arm. All he had to do was drop the bag he clutched. But he couldn't let go of the prize he had schemed and plotted for so long to have as his own. Could he? He took a moment to weigh the pluses and minuses of this new third option.

He glanced down and tried to look past his shoes into the dark shadows of the ravine. For a second he imagined it as a bottomless pit. Was there a place he could ensure a safe and secure landing for his treasure? Would he be able to retrieve it later? The gathering darkness played games with his vision. What looked good a moment ago did not look so good now. He chose to keep the bag.

This third option bothered him. "Strange", he thought, "here I hang seconds away from Death and all I can think of is why can't Life be simple and uncluttered". Once more the variety of forks and roads he could travel had found him, crippled him. Even at Death's door he is unable to make up his mind.

The only decision he remembered making with authority had put him in this predicament. The moment he gathered up the goods in the bag, he knew his life would never be the same. He envisioned a life of uncluttered simplicity. But once he heard the dogs in the distance, he knew he had just made his world a more dangerous place. Life had become simple, just not in the way he planned. Running for his life had not been part of his game plan.

He tried to hang quietly. Every motion or twitch made the tendons and muscles in his arm and wrist scream out with pain. As he dangled, he began to feel foolish. He realized he was not cut out to be an impulsive person. He had lived his life carefully, always weighing alternatives. Often times, his time spent vacillating saved him from making any decision. Life moved on to something else and dragged him along. He found events unfolded with or without his input.

He heard a noise above him. Looking up he saw just the tip of a fur covered nose hanging over him. Black nostrils flexing in and out as the hound took in the full measure of his scent. The dog began to howl and then disappeared for a moment. Seconds later another nose, then another, and another. Finally a voice.

"What the Hell are you doing Georgie? Mom's looking for you. Get down from there you bonehead. Supper is ready. And hey, she is looking to skin whoever let the puppies out"

The sound of foot steps retreating. Georgie thought he had skated. Then an abrupt voice made him look up.

"Georgie! Is that my bag of marbles? I told you not to touch them. You better get up here. I'm telling Mom. MOM! Georgie took my bag of marbles!"

Georgie stuck his tongue out in the general direction of his brother. He dropped to the uneven ground some four feet below the back porch. He knew he was in for it. His parents would have a piece of him. His brother would certainly make him miserable. His treasure would be ripped out of his hands and most likely he would have to suffer a pink belly or some other ungodly older brother torture before he could get back to his life. He sighed and went inside to eat dinner.
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Feed the kid in you - see ya.......................

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