Genius snatched from the cruel jaws of fate... er, snow

As I was walking home from work this morning, heavy of head and foot, I noticed some scraps of notebook paper sticking out of the snow. Curiosity drew me to examine more closely, and, seeing that there were pencil marks on the paper, I gingerly lifted it from the damp place it had been carelessly dropped. I saw right away it was no jejune mash note, no girlish letter proclaiming empty threats of ass-kicking and bitch cutting. No, as I leafed ever more anxiously through the pages, I found myself drawn into a gripping tale fraught with betrayal,pathos and tragedy, a tale that through its raw simplicity cuts to very core of the human condition. My hands trembled, and not from the cold. I raced home, gingerly bearing home the damp and curling pages, knowing that this was a thing that had to be preserved for the ages. I regret only that we have no way of knowing what fathomless soul put Ticonderoga to paper to sear such a masterpiece into my consciousness.

You, my dear and gentle readers are the first people to see this besides the Artist and myself. And fortunate you are!

I give you:

DUDE PUSHING ANOTHER DUDE OFF A LEDGE





The action begins with the Push, as all actions do. Our protagonist already knows he is in danger, as if he knew all along his friend would turn on him.

I see parallels to God casting Lucifer from heaven. His arms, now moving more frantically, appear to be wings. Of an angel? Perhaps.

What does The Betrayer hold in his murderous hand? Is it a halo? A crown of thorns? Or simply some vulgar earthly treasure that has clouded his mind with avarice, thus leading him to his vile actions?

Here, the antagonist is headless, as his bloodlust has rendered him senseless.

The victim falls, still faceless to us.

As he becomes fully cognizant of his plight, he cries out.

His eyes widen in alarm.

He cries out louder, for help, though he knows, there are none who can help him now.

He attempts to bargain, should God or Devil hear him and make a deal to spare his life. Yet he knows he is not heard - he is truly alone now, more alive and present than he has ever been in these, his last moments.

This reality overtakes him. His life flashes before his eyes. He is measured, and found wanting.

As he falls, he comes closer to us.

We can read every line in his face, now. And we know him

His terror is ours. His face is the face of us all.

As he falls toward us, his scream swallows us whole.