The Return of Les Incassables — Version 1
From the Eiffel Tower
Twitter spots him first: Some guy in white is about to jump from the Eiffel Tower! #insanity #thatshtcray. Blurry cellphone shots of the nondescript figure, who seems to blend with the falling snow, ripple across the internet like rings of water. TV stations around the world follow closely behind, broadcasting sky-view video feeds of a man standing on the edge of the tower, about half the distance up from the crowded Parisian streets. Powerful cameras distribute several close-up shots, competing for the next Pulitzer for Photography: the query, the stranger, the insane man atop the icy parapets is tall and lean, with a beatific smile on his dark face and his eyes are closed. He is dressed entirely in white: white coat, white pants, white gloves, white shoes, though no hat atop his bald head. The only color on his person: an unidentifiable blue flower, with a deep hue that nearly glows against the white background of his coat amidst the gentle snowfall.
At first, they discourage him from jumping while getting the trampoline ready below. But after a while, as the man does not look to the ladder that lowers from a helicopter, nor heeds the calls of panicked well-doers who fear for his life, the calls cease, the ladder is raised, and all are forced to watch and wait to see what this man would do. Though they do leave the trampoline in its place.
He has been standing, arms stretched out on either side, head tilted up to the snow-filled skies, for almost two hours now. Helicopters continue to buzz around the tower like flies, unwilling to miss a critical moment. Two fire trucks battle their way through the throngs of bystanders that have gathered on the greens at the base of the tower. No one has identified him, and he is only referred to as “The Stranger in White”, a flashy title coined by the Times.
Unbeknownst to all, the ones who know him watch with the rest. Small smiles play on their lips, and blue flowers are held in trembling hands. They sit in pubs and living rooms and offices around the world and cheer silently for their commander, praying that the day they have been waiting for generations for has finally arrived. One woman stands in the crowd below the tower, eyes glued to the man, flower against her chest, while fear (or is it hope?) trembles in her heart.
Two hours exactly from the first mention online, all the world has eyes on him. His smile widens, his calm making way to jubilation. A life he had almost forgotten returns to his memory in full force, and he laughs in a way he has not laughed since the days before this tower was built, before the violent terror of the unknown, when he was a young man standing at the top of a small platform, and the crowd was only tens, not millions. He takes in a deep breath; the scent from the flower on his lapel overwhelms his senses, and fills him with a joy that he has waited so long to feel. His eyes open, and he slowly raises his long, powerful arms up above his head.
The crowds gasp, pointing — the man is moving! — and the helicopters start to circle closer to the tower, careful not to get too close and push the man off with the rapid winds from the spinning blades. The fire trucks move with renewed vigor to the base of the tower, and valiant firefighters dash to pull a net between the ladders. The days of hiding are over. The stage is set. The performance can finally begin.
The man falls.
A cry goes out from the crowds as the cameras fix their gazes on the man tilting forward through the grey skies, but their alarm turns from horror to amazement as they watch him suddenly catch the bar beneath where he once stood, and pull his body from his free fall up and over the bar. Once around, he releases, soaring through the air before catching onto another bar. Soon, it is clear to all: this man is an acrobat, like nothing they have ever seen before.
The crowds are applauding, enchanted by the flying man as he weaves himself in and out of the tower, becoming one with the dancing flakes as they fall from the sky. A jump and a backbend throw him over the top parapet, and he makes his way slowly down one of the dividing legs of the tower. The crowd, the world, is enthralled. The ones once known as Les Incassables feel alive.
It is at the final level that things change. The man gracefully lands on the balls of his feet atop the thick railing, where several tourists once stood while the weather was warm. With his arms outstretched, he walks slowly across the bar, then takes a double step, and leaps in a graceful arc from the center of the platform.
Unlike the last time, the man does not reach out for the beams beneath, and very quickly there are no beams to be held. The cheers turn into screams as the man falls headfirst towards the net that has been temporarily forgotten. The firefighters frantically try to hold the net taunt, but the man falls into it quickly, snapping the strings from their loose knots and continues to the trampoline below. The net wraps around his form like a cocoon, and his body begins to spin, creating what appears to be a small snowstorm as he crashes into the trampoline on the ground. The people rush forward, and the cameras push through the crowds to get a glimpse of what promises to be a morbid sight. But when they arrive, all they see is the net, bundled into a large ball, bouncing gently atop the trampoline. And beside it, a flower whose striking blue color dazzles the eye.
But The Man in White has disappeared.
…
An exploration of different ways to tell the same story. Version 1 — multiple lenses.
This was once to be a Flash Fiction competition story entry, but instead of competing, I’d like to use it as a platform for exploration. How much can I create within the 1,000 word limit (this one has 998 words)? Can I show a whole world from such a limited vantage point? Can you, the reader, grasp the myriad of subtle nods towards different lives without room for much exploration? Any feedback or insight into this version would be appreciated, and there is more to come.
-T.
