By Jim Bates
To hell with her. His hands grip the jagged rock as he pulls himself to the top of Sirocco Peak. Gusts tear at his shirt as he stands on the edge of the flat stone mesa, six hundred feet above the desert floor. He loves it here. All alone. Wide open spaces. The infinite horizon. He spreads his arms and leans way out, his body buoyed by the relentless wind, wanting nothing more than to step into space and fly away. That’ll show her, he thinks. Just before he steps back, falls to the ground and breaks down in tears.
“I write to try and bring a bit of happiness to people.” – the writer