He finished his lunch, and looked up into the sky, his hands absentmindedly going through the process of packing his trash into the brown bag.

There...he saw it, a dark pin prick against the rich baby blue of the northwestern sky. He watched it as the shape grew, traveling down, not across like a plane in flight would.

It hit him, he had done nothing with his life he wanted. He had taken the job as an architect merely to earn money easily, by doing something he considered second nature, by doing something he knew would earn him money. He hadn't done what he wanted, what he knew would challenge him, would make him happy, would fulfill his dreams and make him happy. He was more than happy with his family, a dream he loved and fulfilled every day he was with them. But he wasn't happy! He wasn't doing what he wanted, it was worse than doing something he knew he didn't want to for an entire lifetime, because he knew what he needed to do to make him happy, what he wanted to do! And he couldn't do anything to change it, not anymore, not now. It had come too late.

He looked up again as he watched the speck loom larger, now an aura around it, a halo of orange, but the speck was no longer merely just that, it had passed classification as a smudge, no longer a prick or shadow on the sky. A blemish against life. Now it was an evil shape, an imminent one, one they had been taught to fear but then had been told it was no longer a threat. But now it was here, evil, sinister in its blind progress to a set of coordinates, coordinates its electronic mind could neither choose nor alter.

For the first time, Will's mind felt lost, felt despair. He had no idea how to understand this, how to comprehend this. It was too large, a butterfly was flapping its wings in central park and it was raining in Seattle. This was unknown to him, untested ground, ground that was never supposed to be tread upon.

He almost wished that the clouds would cover the sky once again, blocking his view of the shape, and the shape's view of its destination. Maybe it will miss, he thought, his mind grabbing at anything. Maybe the clouds will mar its view enough that it will just go into the ocean, I could live then, I could survive.

But your wife and child, your dog, they would surely die if it crashed in the ocean, but you might survive--a voice spoke up from the back of his mind. William felt ashamed as he heard that thought, ashamed for even thinking about himself in such a selfish and uncaring way. He hung his head, his strong, graceful hands, hands which could create such things of beauty and sweeping lines, clutching his head. His black hair was mussed now, the wind moving through its follicles, his gray eyes stared at the ground below him, his feet resting on a mar in the concrete of the pavement. One he had never noticed before, one that read: 'Jay and Cindy, 4-ever.'