Paraglide

Henry knew he was boring. He spoke about dull things. He was always measured in his approach to life, from the 5mm of toothpaste placed on the brush to the way in which he dressed, always the socks first, right, then left. His grey hair and humble demeanor gave him a quiet air of respectability, which he relished.

People would never of guessed about his secret life. He pulled the straps extra tight on the safety harness and glimmered with pleasure. The tightness was reminiscent of times past. He braced for the run off the side of his favorite hill, the lift off exhilarated his mood as the vista loomed closer.

Here he was free, he could survey all that he loved, all that made him the man he was. He wallowed in happy memories as he spotted the burial places of the twelve victims he had killed over the last ten years. He threw his head back and laughed.