The earth curved away in a neat line, the wind buffeting his ears. The steady drone of the aeroplane engine’s vibrations drowned out his thudding heartbeat, setting his teeth a-chatter, echoing through his skull.
He fell, plunging downward, and from this height you no longer wondered why they were called the “Cloud Forests,” as walls of grey clung to the thin needles riding the hills.
He pulled at the cord, yanked at the emergency chute – he had almost left it too late.
It was the wrong backpack. The winds drown his voice as the clouds fail to catch him, not as solid as they seem.
This post was written for this weekend’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. I’ve been a bit too busy to read everyone else’s stories and reply to comments this last week, working to much at the DAYJOB and (happily) doing a whole load of reading and writing…(YAY!) I’ve finally got a day off tomorrow, so I’ll be dropping around your blogs then, I promise! Comments and criticism always welcome!