There's a silent urge to leave this cloud when all I want is to hear the sound,/
Of your voice devoid of the constant noise, the only sound to fill this void./

And do you want this. And do you still need this./

Like modern morbid prophecies fulfilled./
Like biting on these bitter tasting pills./
And we're just heroes, and we're just heroes./

They all won't love me, she won't let me forget./

- Dead Poetic - "Modern Morbid Prophecies"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNgMIM-KO04

---

Henderson, West Virginia / June 11th / 9:02 P.M.


Fifty-five miles.

“I wish you were here now,” the red wolf said softly. “Here to help me make sense of all this.”

Wilis Rockwell had flown this distance on several occasions, but each time he traveled out to Henderson, the trip felt no longer than an errand across town. Each trip took a little over an hour, but during flight, time became a trifling irrelevance. All that mattered each time was that he’d been free to experience life at his own pace. Even though he longed to fly in the daylight despite the risks, Wilis still only flew under the cover of night whenever possible.

At least, he had until tonight.

“I wish I knew you, or really, I wish I had the chance to know you.”

Flight itself was always effortless. Effortless and joyous. At least, it used to be for most his life. As he clutched at a familiar black feather, such feelings of carefree pleasure felt as comforting now as fading memory of a more innocent time. The older Wilis got, the more those memories seemed to resemble incoherent dreams and less like a recollection of a bygone era where danger didn’t lurk around every corner. Standing atop the Silver Memorial Bridge, the red wolf’s interest was enraptured with the appearance of more feathers. Spiraling toward the emerging stars on a sudden squall, a stream of black feathers had surfaced. Even when his form remained relatively normal, these large black feathers revealed themselves from thin air like some portentous omen.

“Haley, I’m sorry,” Wilis confessed, his eyes full of regret as he continued studying the black feather he held. “You were a good friend. If we ever meet again, I’ll set things right. I promise.”

Fifty-five miles from Parkersburg. One mile from ground zero.

“I wish you were here with me, Dad. Here and still alive. I have so many questions to ask you.”

All his life, Wilis never flew from home farther than fifty-five miles. At no point had the red wolf ever flown past this point above the Ohio River. The Silver Memorial Bridge called out to him more so than any landmark he’d visited. The view from where he stood—a haunt he often frequented—reminded the young man of everything he could lose if he ever chose to stray too far.

“History’s repeating itself,” he muttered, his mind momentarily lost in thought. "This time around, I'll change things for the better."

As the red wolf stared into the distance past the placid, picturesque Ohio River vista to the bright lights of a nearby town, the red wolf felt a steeled resolve start to overtake him. The gentle breeze unsettled the young man’s styled hair as he contemplated his next move. Thankful that no soul driving by underneath had yet seen him, the eighteen-year-old stood upon the steel beams in the dying light with his gaze firmly locked on where everything began decades prior. The conflict’s focal point and epicenter. Ground zero.

Point Pleasant, West Virginia.

“This time, things will be different.”

---

I want to thank the great  Crocdragon for not only accepting this commission, but completing it within a week. He is one of my favorite artists, so having the opportunity to work with him again was an absolute blessing. I'm so thankful for the art I've received. Seeing Wilis come to life was so very cool! All I can say is that my expectations were surpassed, and I can't be more thankful for all his hard work.

---

art is ©  Crocdragon

Wilis Rockwell is ©  nazcapilot