A Life on Land

A Life on Land

A Life on Land

Churning. Swirling. Water beneath him.
His best friend clapped him on the back moments ago, and said: “You can do it, mate. It’s just one leap of faith.”
But now he stood alone on that edge. The scent of Douglas fir and sweat in his nose. Family and friends watched in a place so far behind they were no longer visible. But he could feel them. Their energy was warm, like an amber flame inside a floating paper lantern. He heard his father shout, “We’ve all done it, son. It’s not that bad. Just jump.”
Inches of ground were left. A life on land was the only one he knew. But, so close and so tempting, was empty space where he was sure to plummet. Sure to have a feeling like nausea. Sure to have a feeling like flying.
“You were saying?”
Tom blinked. His boss twisted around in the leather chair. He was hanging red baubles on the branches of a miniature potted Christmas tree atop his desk.
"Sir," he said.
Tom tugged his tie and stepped forward.
“I’m resigning.”
And he hit the water.