Return Of Spirit

Tap, skip, slide, the man deep into the heart of night danced his way through the empty streets. A smile spread across his face as if he has never known worry. His tattered, stained jacket flapped behind him like an elegant cloak. To the figures in the windows staring at him, he took off his beanie and bowed with all the grace of English nobility. A minor tune carried him as he clicked his feet and hummed. He sang “What a marvelous night,” spinning in a circle just before he woke he was drowning in a bottle, but that was before, and now he had found meaning. He had never felt such joy, such love, like the world, he has ascended to the heavens. All from a dream.

A creature turned its head towards the man. The creature was covered in dark blue, and its chest shined a star of faded gold where its heart should be. Sheathed in its side was a dark, cursed sword. It tilted quizzically at the man before screeching at him. It was trying to speak to the man. Ordinarily, he would run or at least get away from the creature, for this man constantly was harassed by such beings, but today was unlike any other day. Bouncing around the creature, the man grabbed at it spinning around and laughing trying to get it to dance. The creature shrieked even louder, pushing the man down; as he fell, it took out its sword and pummeled him with the hilt. This, too, was a normal occurrence for the man, but he did not cry in pain or find a bottle to climb into he gathered himself, dusted off, and began to dance… even if his skip had a bit of a limp in it.

If there was pain you could not tell it as he danced through the streets, it was empty again, but he was not lonely he had a purpose. He found a patch of grass where he would often lay his head, but he could not sleep now he had a purpose. He marched the tune never leaving his lips when he finally arrived. A monument stood in front of him. A silver tree with orange-brown stones throughout it stood in front of him. Finally, he was here.

Climbing the silver tree. The clang of the branches kept in tune with his song as his feet would hit one another. Climbing higher and ever higher, the song screamed in his lungs every step easier than the last. He was close to the top. With every inch he climbed, more weight fell off of him. Climbing faster and faster, he had to get to the top he hadn’t felt so weightless since he was a boy. Nothing weighing him down, nothing holding him back. No chains pulling at him; he was almost there. Usually such a climb would exhaust the man, at least without his elixir, but he was light as a feather.

At the top of the tree, all weight was gone; the man broke into tears “oh, what this feeling was to be weightless.” Looking down at the world below, the man felt pity for the creatures of this world. Holding so tight to their chains and weights that they never learned how to fly. And so the man dried his eyes and said a prayer for the monsters down below; as the sun rose, the man on top of the world leaped from his silver throne and if only once, learned to fly.