Sometimes I wish that things were different. That I was different. But it's just like when I was little and dreamed I could fly, some things can just never be. All I can do is try. I'm sorry mama. - Parker
The abused toes of his red converse peak out over the ledge of the rusted old bridge. The wind whipping back his dark hair. He stares down at the lake water below him. Whiskey eyes welling up with tears. A small voice in the back of his mind calls to him. It tells him just a little bit more, just a little bit more and you will fly. Taking a deep breath he closes his eyes and stretching his arms out like wings.
A familiar voice cries out,
"Parker!"
Jerking his head to the voice the two lock eyes just as he slips over the edge.
