Chances

Chances, yes? Do you like them? Do you take them? Do you run and hide under the chaise when risks come a-knocking on the door?

As a young creature, Rian hated taking chances. And so, of course, took as many as possible. When one grows up in the shadow of a parent who might 'die at any moment', I suppose one becomes either philosphical or angry. Rian was often angry. And the taking of chances was much like thumbing one's nose at the Fate or at god.

Rian broke into neighborhood houses and moved things around. Simply to take a chance. Ran with packs of older children, growing striplings who believed taking -

Ah. Michael Jackson's Verdict on the radio. Dr. Lorimer said it would come. Not guilty.

- chances was all about taking pleasure. Climbed towering trees and walked branches out over thin air, only to close eyes and jump, when Rian did not first fall from bone deep, sheer terror.

Now. Now, at thirty three, what is the taking of chances? And do they still lure? I believe I have become more philosophical. After all, every one of us might 'die at any moment', nothing is so certain as it was when young Rian walked tree limbs.

I am no longer afraid of death. It walks on my heels. And if I am no longer afraid of death, whence comes the risk in life?