HARPER
Harper is well aware what he's doing is probably against the rules. At the very least not socially acceptable. But here he is nonetheless, eyes gleaming like a cat with a canary in its sights, running full tilt at the sturdy Atheneum shelves and hauling himself up with astonishing speed. Higher, higher, higher. Needing that thrill of fighting gravity, of being on the knife's edge away from flying, from soaring. And perhaps a dash of rebellion to spice his blood, a mischievous boyish part of him that will never truly fade.
The tops of the shelves are dusty, untouched. Harper walks along the very edge, sure-footed and staring at the dome ceiling, mesmerized. Completely fearless. And when he's sure nobody is around, he begins to walk on his hands, doing a few front walkovers, springing lightly on the balls of his feet. Dust collects on his palms, and he makes a face at it, but it's worth being up in the air and away from the boring life on the ground. At least until he gets caught.
The tops of the shelves are dusty, untouched. Harper walks along the very edge, sure-footed and staring at the dome ceiling, mesmerized. Completely fearless. And when he's sure nobody is around, he begins to walk on his hands, doing a few front walkovers, springing lightly on the balls of his feet. Dust collects on his palms, and he makes a face at it, but it's worth being up in the air and away from the boring life on the ground. At least until he gets caught.
caught in this reckless raging fury
that they call the love of God
that they call the love of God
