I ask can you see
with eyes that aren’t your own
Words that are not heard
Lance wandered out into the meadow. His large black eyes followed the terrain of the rolling hill in front of him. His ears were an exercise of motion, flipping backward and forward as they detected a sudden rustle of branches, or an unexpected disturbance nearby. The mist had settled itself onto the pavement, deciding as it sometimes does in the early spring to hang around until the morning sun became strong enough to burn through it.
The first flyers came winding around the bend of the blacktop that bordered the meadow. They came in a parallel pair, as they always do, all bright and dazzling white, as bright and sure of themselves as two tiny suns, whizzing right towards the meadow before following the turn of the lane and retreating into the distance, the brilliant white transformed to a smoldering red in an instant.
The flyers came and went like this every so often, and Lance would raise his head each time. Lance would let his mind wander as he bowed his head to the ground, his nose and lips searching for the grass that was most tender. The watering hole in the western woods was especially busy today; all the animals were hopping with excitement over the early spring; the dough he had run into on his walk back to the den was shy and avoided his eye, but he hoped that she might turn up at the meadow tonight.
As they flyers whizzed by the meadow, Lance noticed that each time he raised his head to watch their meteoric approach, he found himself a little bit closer to the mist-covered pavement. He knew the black curve that separated this side of the meadow from that side of the meadow could be dangerous. Too many of his friends had met their fate at the hands of the flyers.
But Lance found the flyers hypnotizing to watch, like the ripples from a stone thrown into a quiet pond. The flyers careened into the bend like comets, and as close as Lance was, they seemed to be coming straight for him. Lance stood tall and stoic, his black eyes locked on the fiery flyers, and as they sped towards him, a thought flashed through his mind – a revelation, really. It seemed impossible yet simultaneously unavoidable. Lance wanted something at that moment, more than anything in the world, to be the first of his kind – maybe the first of any kind. He wanted to stand in between the flyers as they flew by. He wanted to feel the air moving on his ears, to see the exact moment they changed from blinding white to red, to know that at that moment he could be not only in between the two meadows he had known his whole life, but also in between the lights of fear and wonder he had beheld his entire existence.
So he jumped.