Slipping Through the Cracks
By Will Ritter
He leapt. The hook glistened momentarily, catching
some fleeting breath of moonlight as it began its
arch. The timing had to be outstandingly precise. His
body now clear of the rooftop, he let the cord begin
to fall over the power cables. Upward and forward
momentum ceased, and for a brief moment he felt the
wieghtless sensation of his temporary hover. With
practiced ease, his hand flicked the cord in a small
semicircle and allowed his own weight and rapidly
increasing descent to pull the prong and wire taught
against each other. The downward freefall gradually
shallowed out into a flowing swing, carrying his
gleaming black boots level to the ground for just an
instant, and then upward once again, quickly at first,
but slowing into a second momentary hover. His grip
realeased and he dropped to the ground below, landing
crouched and catlike, his eyes already scanning the
premesis. Behind him the cord of his grappling hook
touched the damp earth, no longer aided by his
carefully calculated motions, and there came an
eruption of sparks as the massive power flow within the
wires recieved grounding. The blinding explosion of
light revealed his dangerous sillouhuette, cape
whipping in the chill air, its tattered ends like
black fire against the brightness of the wires. Then,
as suddenly as it had erupted, the light was gone. In
the silent blackness he reached into his cape,
covertly pulling out the wedgie that so often plagued
those jumps. Years of practice notwithstanding, some
things were inevitable, and spandex was no forgiving
fiber.
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