[ WP ] And so he bitterly asked , `` Why ? ''

And so, he bitterly asked “ Why? ” 
 
 “ Because that ’ s the way it is, John. ” His mother said. 
 
 And, he listened. 
 
 When he set his mind to it, the blue jays stopped teasing him with their long sweeps through the air. The butterflies stopped taunting him with their lazy twirls in the cool summer breeze. Even the hawk, that could dive through the air with supreme confidence—a being so in control of its body that even the great apes of the world would pause and watch as the king of the skies soared—eventually faded to obscurity in the hazy winds of life. 
 
 But, dreams die hard. As John grew older, his mind wandered. The clouds still begged him to join them in that great blue canvas. To float amongst the clouds…that would be true freedom. Only, the birds were blessed with that freedom—with the ability to cast of Earth ’ s shackles and shrug free of that massive weight. Man could not fly; that was how it is. But, man could climb those rebellious peaks that broke free of their brothers and stretched vainly toward the sky. Why didn ’ t man climb? 
 
 And so, he bitterly asked “ Why? ” 
 
 “ Shut up and drink a beer. ” His best friend said. 
 
 And, he listened. 
 
 When he thought about it, climbing a mountain was dangerous. Soon, those mysterious peaks, where man danced with cloud and earth, became laced with fear and risk. Those towering spires that broke the sky, could also break a man. Even the views soon grew stale. A thousand men took a thousand pictures, most of the same thing, so that the masses did not have to. 
 
 But, dreams die hard. As John started his family and waded deep into his career, his mind wandered. The true allure of the skies and flying were to be free. Now he was an adult, with money and the means; he could still break free. The world opened to those who asked, and it could all be his. The sights, the journeys, and that primal freedom could all be his. All this, and more, for the traveler, all while still safely abiding Earthen chains. Why didn ’ t men travel? 
 
 And so, he bitterly asked “ Why? ” 
 
 “ John. We talked about this. You have a family now. You have responsibilities. ” His wife said. 
 
 And, He listened. 
 
 In a flash, the thought passed—just a vague fancy on a floating breeze to tickle his mind. Without him his family would wither. It wasn ’ t long before any thought of leaving home left a panic: how would his children get by? What would his wife do? Who would take care of his home, his car, his life? 
 
 Dreams die hard, but over time, all must fade. Even dreams, the most immortal of man ’ s creations, must eventually succumb; it is the Earthly curse. Those heavy chains, that titanic burden, will crush even the most resolute of heart. As time wore on, John lived his life. His mind did not wander, until the day he lay on his death bed, when his own prisons were at their weakest. He saw a lone butterfly settle on the windowsill, and that childhood wish came drifting back. To fly, to be free of his broken body, would be heaven. Why didn ’ t man fly? 
 
 And so, he bitterly asked “ Why? ” 
 
 Only the gentle breeze came in response. 
 
 This time, he listened. 

