He looked down at the obstacle. The massive jump stared up at him from a hundred yards away. He stood, motionless. Thinking of a plan, a way out, an exit.
The wind began to blow in his face, first softly like a gentle breeze, than hard like needles piercing the skin. Frost started to accumulate on his hands.
He turned around to see 50 faces looking at him. Empty faces, not a smile among them, just, staring. Watching. Waiting.
A snowflake dropped in his glove. So small and frail, but beautiful.
Shaking. Nervous. It crept on him; he could feel it through his body. He didn’t know what to do. It was his choice, not anyone else’s. The massive mound of unforgiving snow below still watching. Waiting for prey to come near. Close enough to seal the victim’s fate.
He was brave, some say too brave, but nervous because no one else had tried it. No one had come close to that monster. No one brave enough to test the beast.
Watching. Waiting for his chance.
The wind started to die, the sun beat back the clouds; this was it. He lurched forward. The snow was light, fluffy, like floating on a cloud. The crowd leaned forward, wide-eyed, watching, waiting.
He sped toward the beast, his skis clicking together like a clock, ready to chime.
He could hear a funeral dirge in his ear, flashing memories across his eyes, and all he could do was, wait.
He suddenly felt free, invincible; he could do anything. He stared down the beast, determination in his eyes. No one could stop him, no one.
He bent his knees, not shaking anymore. Waiting for the jump to come to him. Waiting for his time to strike.
The crowd watching, waiting.
He jumped, and waited.