A Solid Man's Ground
When the wind blows the wind chime bounces off of the withered oak post its dangling from. Of course, it didn't matter to the old deaf man that sat in his ancient, moldy rocking chair that sat on the front porch of his mahogany cabin in the woods. There was a lake nearby that always had geese bathing in the lukewarm water, only to be attacked by a snake every week or so. The old man laughs every time he sees a snake fly off with one of the geese, making a loud clap when it hits the ground, and god forbid he land on anything metal; it would make a decent dent. The overalls the old man wore were made of a fine leather that he tanned himself back in the city, at the old clothes shop that Mr. Lindel ran, but that was four or forty-five years ago. The memories only made him sad, thinking about the days when he was young, and his friends were alive. That time has long passed and he would love to have them back, but his future was not in the past, or the present. He rocked in his chair a bit and laid his head back. His chair fell backwards and he fell onto a cloud, that looked like it was falling rapidly to the ground, but he didn't feel like he was moving, he laid there staring at the sky wondering what was happening to him. The birds flew by, but still the cloud was falling. He tried to lift his arm to wave, but it was so heavy, like someone was dragging him down. More and more birds passed, and the man tried with both arms to grab out and touch them. As the old man reached the ground, the cloud landed above a hole, the size of him and shaped like a box. The cloud slowly dissipated, leaving him six feet under.