“Dad, one day I’m gunna fly.” Young Ronald said, watching the jet plane leave it’s white, dusty line in the sky.
“Sure, boy,” His dad rolled his already rolling eyes. “You’ll fly from the top of my hand to the smack of your bum. That’s how far you’re gunna fly.” Young Ronald’s dad never really made much sense, on account of all the grass he smoked.
“Nah, Dad, for real. I’m gunna fly.”
“Get your face outta my space, boy. I’m tired of your big head.”
Young Ronald grinned and moved away. He liked to think his Dad was just a big joker, just a big goofy joker who loved him very much.
When Young Ronald became Awkward Adolescent Ronald his dream of one day flying became a rock-hard, no-other-option, I’m really-gonna-do-it type plan. He was an incredibly faithful believer in the belief of things and, since he moved out of home last year, Ronald really felt he had the freedom to embrace his planned dreams.
Ronald made plans for wings and he made plans for capes, he wrote mathematical equations and he tested parachute fabrics- by the time he was 17, Ronald was almost certainly positive that it was time. And this made him happy.
So, happily, on a lightly breezy Sunday, Ronald walked to the tippy top of a cliff called Krazy Peak. He was wearing the wings he’d created from egg cartons, nutri grain boxes, and the foam egg crate pad you’re supposed to put on your bed to make it more comfortable for sleeping on. They didn’t look like they would fly but Ronald happily believed in his wings.
Ronald believed all the way to the bottom of the valley where he died instantly of head trauma and massive internal injury.
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