She's sitting in a chair by a window. The chair is resting on four legs. Now two. Now one. The window is open. It's pouring outside, it's not so bad inside. The lecturer is rambling on about fecal matter. Other students are struggling to listen. Some listen easy. Some already know. A leaf gets bullied by the rain and receives a blow by the wind. The leaf wields a falling twig and starts slashing raindrops in two as it defies gravity. The shower of liquid orbs becomes more vehement and slaps the leaf from all directions. Left. Up. Diagonal. They call for reinforcement. The wind blows again and sends the leaf spinning in a tornado with its kin. They rattle and vibrate and try to grab each other but they're so soggy their grasp keeps slipping. The rain is winning. Wait, the leaf. It's getting up. It drew tribal marks on its face with mud and it's putting a plastic cup over itself. The rain laughs. But as each droplet falls to the ground and disintegrates its laughter ceases. The leaf is yelling in victory in its plastic cup and stomping on the wet ground. She falls off her chair. Everyone's awake now. And staring.
It's not hard to fall on the ground.
But it's easier to fall into the sky.
(photo via BonaDrag.com)
