The wind rustled Michael’s hair from the roof of his house. Funny, on the ground, he hadn’t been able to feel so much as a breeze. He didn’t mind. It was a warm, June breeze and he embraced it. Sitting on the shingles, enjoying the steady sunlight that caressed him ever so gently, Michael turned the final page of his novel, read the only remaining paragraph, then closed the book. He stared into the sky and admired the clouds. They seemed puffier than usual. He opened his laptop and stared blankly at the page that was before him. The empty stare lasted only a moment, then his fingers began to tap dance across the keyboard unceasingly. He bled three pages into the document, hit the enter key twice, and typed the words “The End”. He exhaled deeply, smiled, and closed the computer. With the laptop under his arm, and the novel in his hands, he climbed to the top of his roof, where its slope leveled out into a flat surface. He set both possessions down, against the chimney and turned away. He strolled back down to the roof’s edge and looked out (out, not down) at the trees and the endless sky. It truly was a beautiful day. Michael looked back over his shoulder, paranoid that the book and computer may have fallen. He smiled at their presence and focused on the wind. It was too light to present any danger to them; he knew they were safe. A strange and unfamiliar peace coursed through his veins. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze and the sun mixing against his flesh, and stepped over the ledge.
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