Gravity would change for him.
Human rules, ever altering to increase comfort for the privileged per cent, impeded his family’s progress – no trickles for them. Nature stirred his struggling mind.
He would be carried into ether; perhaps everyone would be lifted. So he left letters for his children, and explained himself to his wife, who didn’t understand what he felt in his bones. She wept as he set out for the highest place he could reach.
In time he stepped over it’s edge, arms spread winglike, wild as every newborn and wailing, free to accept that he might not float.
The prompt was the photo, from Julia.