The End of the Beginning
He could feel the weight of the revolver in his hand, heavy...leaden...like the weight in his soul.
His father's words, his father's threats...only they weren't threats they were promises, promises his father would make good on, promises that would crush the fledgling dreams he'd found in Mr. Keatings classroom, in the indian cave...
On the stage.
All Neil Perry wanted to do was escape. Escape the crushing sense of failure, the oppresive air of inevibility that had closed around him since his father had spoken of military school.
Ten years.
Ten years was a lifetime for a young man who had tasted the wind and wanted his wings now.
Neil Perry wanted to fly.
He lifted his hand, his fingers trembled uncomfortably wrapped around the butt of the weapon as he pressed the muzzle to his temple, his forefinger reaching around the trigger, pulling it back.
BANG
Only it wasn't the report of the handgun.
It was a loose window blowing open behind him, washing his father's study with ice cold air and the tickling, icey kisses of the blowing snow.
Neil turned towards the open window, towards the wind that blew into the still room. The wind, the purity of the snow...it called to him, their voice louder than the self destructive urge. The air was cold where it caressed his naked torso but Neil hardly felt it as he stood, leaving the gun behind as he crawled out through the window.
His father's words, his father's threats...only they weren't threats they were promises, promises his father would make good on, promises that would crush the fledgling dreams he'd found in Mr. Keatings classroom, in the indian cave...
On the stage.
All Neil Perry wanted to do was escape. Escape the crushing sense of failure, the oppresive air of inevibility that had closed around him since his father had spoken of military school.
Ten years.
Ten years was a lifetime for a young man who had tasted the wind and wanted his wings now.
Neil Perry wanted to fly.
He lifted his hand, his fingers trembled uncomfortably wrapped around the butt of the weapon as he pressed the muzzle to his temple, his forefinger reaching around the trigger, pulling it back.
BANG
Only it wasn't the report of the handgun.
It was a loose window blowing open behind him, washing his father's study with ice cold air and the tickling, icey kisses of the blowing snow.
Neil turned towards the open window, towards the wind that blew into the still room. The wind, the purity of the snow...it called to him, their voice louder than the self destructive urge. The air was cold where it caressed his naked torso but Neil hardly felt it as he stood, leaving the gun behind as he crawled out through the window.