Excerpt Book III
I know the ink has hardly dried on Book II but this just came busting out of me for Book III. Thought I'd share. :)
NoahI race down the Grand Couloir, in Courchevel, France. The icy wind slaps my cheeks as I slalom between jagged rocks, kicking up sprays of snow, faster and faster, down and down, until I’m nearly vertical. My heart pounds, my breath in my mask bellows like a charging boar. Adrenaline pumps in my veins instead of blood.
The slope angles up. A cliff. I don’t turn, I hunch down and then there’s nothing beneath my skis and I’m flying……I’m flying, gliding, the nylon flaps above me. I grip the bar in a white-knuckled vise. The air is warm and the sky is gold and blue—twilight has fallen over Kahului. My glider dips and soars, and I feel the wind’s changes. I move with it, flying higher and higher, until the islands are puddles of sand wreathed in green.I swoop low, curve up, nearly flip. I let loose a cry of triumph, and ride the edge of the current, higher still, until I can almost touch the sun, like Icarus, only I don’t burn. Not me. I soar.And when I’m high enough, I drop the glider down into a nosedive, my harness straining until it breaks apart, the nylon tearing away, and it’s just me playing chicken with the ocean, and I will not blink first. I streak down, hands ready to cut the water like a knife. I’m diving……I’m diving off La Quebrada, Acapulco, one hundred and thirty-six feet high with five seconds of safe depth before the waves recede again. A three second journey, and I crow my triumph even as my heart plummets with me. My nerves are electric fear—that perfect sizzle that is nearly orgasmic, nearly unbearable.The water rushes to meet me and I cut it perfectly, an arrow into the cool green-blue, down, down, where gold motes dance in the viridian infusion. I don’t stop, I don’t even slow. I can’t. Down deeper, and I begin to choke on my victory. My lungs constrict, my eardrums explode, and still I go down. The water is now dark green, now dark, now black. So deep. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. My head strikes the jagged teeth of the sea and all I know is pain……A scream tears out of my throat, one last scream, I think, before I drown in the black abyss. But no, I can’t breathe and then I can. I can scream, so I can breathe. I’m not submerged. I’m not lost in the deep. I’m in a bed, in New York City, my body covered in sweat, my hands clutching the sheets.Relief sweeps through me like the adrenaline once did, and I open my eyes. But my eyes are already open. I’m no longer in the black deep but I’m just as blinded. Blind.I’m blind.
NoahI race down the Grand Couloir, in Courchevel, France. The icy wind slaps my cheeks as I slalom between jagged rocks, kicking up sprays of snow, faster and faster, down and down, until I’m nearly vertical. My heart pounds, my breath in my mask bellows like a charging boar. Adrenaline pumps in my veins instead of blood.
The slope angles up. A cliff. I don’t turn, I hunch down and then there’s nothing beneath my skis and I’m flying……I’m flying, gliding, the nylon flaps above me. I grip the bar in a white-knuckled vise. The air is warm and the sky is gold and blue—twilight has fallen over Kahului. My glider dips and soars, and I feel the wind’s changes. I move with it, flying higher and higher, until the islands are puddles of sand wreathed in green.I swoop low, curve up, nearly flip. I let loose a cry of triumph, and ride the edge of the current, higher still, until I can almost touch the sun, like Icarus, only I don’t burn. Not me. I soar.And when I’m high enough, I drop the glider down into a nosedive, my harness straining until it breaks apart, the nylon tearing away, and it’s just me playing chicken with the ocean, and I will not blink first. I streak down, hands ready to cut the water like a knife. I’m diving……I’m diving off La Quebrada, Acapulco, one hundred and thirty-six feet high with five seconds of safe depth before the waves recede again. A three second journey, and I crow my triumph even as my heart plummets with me. My nerves are electric fear—that perfect sizzle that is nearly orgasmic, nearly unbearable.The water rushes to meet me and I cut it perfectly, an arrow into the cool green-blue, down, down, where gold motes dance in the viridian infusion. I don’t stop, I don’t even slow. I can’t. Down deeper, and I begin to choke on my victory. My lungs constrict, my eardrums explode, and still I go down. The water is now dark green, now dark, now black. So deep. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. My head strikes the jagged teeth of the sea and all I know is pain……A scream tears out of my throat, one last scream, I think, before I drown in the black abyss. But no, I can’t breathe and then I can. I can scream, so I can breathe. I’m not submerged. I’m not lost in the deep. I’m in a bed, in New York City, my body covered in sweat, my hands clutching the sheets.Relief sweeps through me like the adrenaline once did, and I open my eyes. But my eyes are already open. I’m no longer in the black deep but I’m just as blinded. Blind.I’m blind.
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