I Stand Convicted

The cop busted through the door and I dove out the window and into the cold night air. It was 4am, mid-December, and all I was wearing was my underwear. A thin swirl of snow circled the ground, three floors below. With his gun in one hand, the cop grabbed my leg as soon as I was out the window. He held me in place, and I stood perpendicular to the outside wall of the building. I tried to kick off the wall with the foot that was free, but I kicked the cops hand instead, and he dropped his gun and loosened his grip on my leg. I pulled free and flew away, and as I floated in the air, time played a cruel trick on me. It let me fall so slow that I had plenty of time to think how bad it was going to hurt when I landed. I calmly wondered if I would be alive once I hit the ground. I was comforted by the thought, that; if I wasn't, I would have made good my escape. The cops would certainly have me then; but, at least I would be free. It felt good, sailing through that black void, expecting what was to come. Because, in that period of time, I was free I was as free as a bird in captivity.