The Pleasure of Being Alive
The night in No Man's Landing was dark and stormy; little rivulets of water ran down the street. Thunder clapped, lightening flashed, and rain fell soaking everything that dared set foot outside. One would have to be mad to go out on a night like this, yet, a man was leaning against a lamppost as if he hadn't a care in the world. He looked up at the stormy sky and let the rain pour down upon his grinning face. The rain battered his coat and and dribbled off of his hat, but this odd fellow laughed with sheer pleasure. He laughed loudly and wildly, his merriment carrying a hint of madness, but there was something deeper than that. There was a deep, genuine joy at simply feeling the air in his lungs and the ground under his feet. He danced a jig around the lamppost, kicking up his heels and laughing. He ran out into the street, took off his hat and turned his happy face to the storming heavens. The thunder boomed, but he only laughed as if sharing a joke with the clouds. Replacing his hat on his now drenched hair, he jigged off down the street laughing and whooping like a boy who has been cooped up for days on end. He was free, and he was loving it.