He poises himself on the brink of the black boundary that blocks him from stepping any closer as he holds the orange ember in his hands and slowly lets it drop to the ground and bounce back into his grip. The eyes of onlookers sear into his sides as he releases the cinder into the humid air– praying it turns fireball and burns through the net, he hears the echo of the flame as it hits, and teeters on the edge, along with him.
My (somewhat long) contribution to C.S. Wilde’s Two Sentence Story Challenge. 🙂