Downward

It wasn't until Raymond hit 15,000 feet that he determined that he was in trouble.  The sky was a crystal clear blue when they took off from Maynard airstrip that morning. His friends had convinced him, through much deliberation that a high level jump would be a lot of fun.  Even though he was now at 15,000 feet and accelerating, he wasn't convinced.

He had pulled his chute, but got no response.  He pulled his back up chute, with the same result.  It was too late for second thoughts.  He flattened his body to try to slow the descent, but the result was hardly encouraging.  It was a beautiful day and the sight was definitely one to behold.  But, unfortunately, it would be the last he would see. 

Making the decision to take that one step, out of the plane, was a momentous one.  Big decisions always are.  And it was at that moment, at 12,000 feet (now) that Raymond began to wax philosophical.  All of the high brow arguments, all of the practical/reasonable discussions, all now seemed trite.  Raymond was on a quick trip to death, with no going back.  He remembered Sunday school as a kid.  He remembered summer camp as a teen, sitting around a camp fire.  Shallow, silly little situations that had, buried deep within them, great significance.  

Raymond remembered the last words he spoke to his girlfriend and was glad they were happy ones.  He remembered his father, bed bound but sharp as a tack, and thought how he would love to be in that situation right now.  He began to wonder about the best way to land.
Raymond rolled to his back, closed his eyes and began to recite the Lord's prayer.