Love Never Fails

Chapter 2: Reality Check

Saturday. 

Come on, let's face it. We all know pure bliss when we see it. And like they always say, whoever "they" are, live your life to the fullest. Live like today was the last day of your life. Because, frankly, it might be. 

I give my respects to Nickleback, for that amazing song. 

I was blaring it on my iPod, heading in the city slumps to the skatepark, with my skateboard thrown casually underneath my arm and settled in the crook of my elbow. The early morning sunshine was bright as I strolled down the luxurious path to my final calling. Final calling meaning sudden death. I would kill myself, to say the least. 

I would not be the least bit suprised if Classical, the Blues, or Jazz music started playing right then, and I was certain that afterwords, I would never hear the end of it. Instead I would listen to metal and rock until my eardrums would start to bleed profusely, and I got a massive headache.  

Which in this case, wouldn't be that far away. 

Welcome to Pixie Hollow, where all your dreams come true. 

Narrowing my own eyes with a feeling of mock amusement, a sudden realization slammed me full force in the face with a terrifying amount of pressure. This was the deadline. The end of the road. I noticed only too late, when a shattering force knocked me against the wall and demanded money. 

"Let me hold somethin'." 

Now, let me tell you, I would not fall for this kind of crap. If someone wanted money, they'd have to get it by themselves. I didn't have any, and I never would. But, apart from that, I didn't let my captor see the smug sneer that crossed my face and disappeared in an instant. "You want to hold something, old man, you hold me." 

I knew that made the dude angry, and I didn't care. I thought it was funny as I whipped around and knocked him upside the face with my elbow, though. Made my day. Even funnier when I twisted to the side and his meaty fist connected to a brick wall. He wasn't very skilled.  

Couldn't you tell? 

I owned the day, I owned the night, and I definetely owned my own, hard earned money. If I could even get any. Isolated one again, I threw my board to the ground and ollied off of the sidewalk, the rear wheels barely skimming the ground. Seemingly, as if the weight of the board and myself were a feather, I got the heck outta there. 

Fast. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and that's when I leapt off of my board, scooped it up like an infant wailing and throwing a tantrum, and dodged down an alleyway. I had lost my sense of direction, my wits, and my pride. But that, out of all things, I refused to Intersect my road to survival. 

Into unknown territory. 

Sometimes I feel like Rocky Balboa. Y'know, that boxer, striding down the streets with confidence? Right then, I almost laughed at the connection I had. Then I suddenly admitted to myself that I needed to stop listening to other people when they says things. I could live without it, reasonably knowing that my sense of humor was far greater. 

A car chase scene would have probably been appropriate right then and there, because, well, just imagine. I, myself, riding down a dark, humid alleyway, leaping over fallen trashcans. Half of me expected to get mugged again, and I was scoping the narrow passageway like a lost eagle. The other half wanted to find the girl. The attraction between us was inseperable. For better or for worse. 

I planned on changing her mind. 

The tall towers of New York City banked upwards and curved up into the sky, the asphalt seperating into smooth cement. This was freedom. Bending low and cutting a sharp ollie, I went into a boardslide and balanced on the rail. Completing the move and acting momentarily satisfied, I felt like flying for a brief moment. It didn't last long.