Excuses

He stared out of the open window listening haphazardly to the professor as she droned on and on about something vertex and something algorithm. It was right then, as the gussied up caterers pushed shining carts of foodstuff to the "Friends of the President" that it all snapped up, clicked, and faded away: Today is a day for flying.

Hanging his head, he schlepped back to his dorm, foot after foot after foot. It was only then, after the one-hundred twentieth repetition of the mindless movesong that he realized what happened in that boring class.

"Excuse me, world. I have to fly."

With that, and a skip, he took off running toward the distant brick buildings, knowing that he would effortlessly leap and glide over them.

Then he tripped, fell, and cut his face. He could not fly today. He could never fly.