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It’s hard to think straight.
The falcon looks over, as if understanding, and it hisses.
I am unable to comprehend just how messed up things have become. I shake my head and hold my face in my hands. I feel like vomiting, but I have nothing left.
The flight across the Atlantic, was exhausting, and I have not slept for like thirty hours.
After endless years of trying to find her, and finally finding the woman for me, she wastakenin a cruel twist of fate.
I cuss, and tell the universe that I hate it. Every atom of it. I hate it for screwing my life up, and every part of it.
I never had a family, and I never had a lasting girlfriend.
But finally, I got one.
I played my cards well, carefully, and perfectly. I worshipped her, loved her, and I protected her. Then the universe rips the one thing I truly love, from my grips.
Her.
I never expected to find true love, and I never expected to find her. My parents rejected me. And now she has done the same.
As I paceon the roof, the last rays of the sun kiss the horizon across Manhattan, I try to work out what is going on. I notice the falcon near the strong eagle statue, and I think about my messed-up life.
I suddenly laugh like a lunatic.
The universe is clearly messing with me, but I am still unsure how. I am also unsure, how things will play out.
The falcon is a sign, Storm brought into my life. I try to think about what the falcon represents, and something dawns on me. The broken falcon represents me.
Thebroken man.
Deep down, I know I have problems. Determined alphas who stop at nothing to get what they want often are.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
I’m scarred from a tough childhood.
I had to grow up ruthlessly fast. No parents. A horrific foster experience, and I was bullied, beaten, and tortured, before I hardened the fuck up.
Before I became untouchable.
Feeling alone, and worthless, from such a young age, had likely driven me towards chasing validation.
To prove I have worth. To prove I am worth keeping. That I have value.
I had been discarded as a child and given up for adoption. I have never tried to find my parents and I never would. They had me, and they tossed me out.
I’ve been cast aside,again.
I walk to the corner of my rooftop, and I crouch to vomit. There is nothing to throw up, so I knock back the whiskey. I look at the rock-solid eagle, then back to the damaged falcon flapping its wings.
I walk up to it, but I keep my distance. “Keep stretching that wing!”
The wild predator makes a strange cry, and I nod, as if we have some crude kind of communication.
We do not, I am just imagining things.
I head below, and inside, I roll my neck. I pace, like a caged tiger in the moonlight, trying to work out my next move.
