demoivre

"Plummet"

A simple push, mass confusion, a rush of air, cold, eternal.

Dizzying heights wing past with streaks of light--all ledges blur into oblivion and are purposefully forgotten.

Wind. Becomes hot and liquid; breathing is heavy, labored then short and sporadic--coming all that much more scarce in the space of heartbeats.

Sound floods--echoes, moans; roars turned from simple reactions to blurred cacophonies.

Light dies, then becomes a blinding, white-hot sear at the end--screams echo but are useless at this point; only God could save you and He is smiling.

Crash, burn, shatter--explode upon impact in a jarring fixation into the opaque.

Air ceases its burning movement, shadows cover the eyes, sound becomes defined.

The world ends in one blasted moment; life comes to a shuddering hault. Stars fall from the heavens and God dances merrily.

All is spent and I lay in your arms and, with tears, listen to your heartbeat.



Cheesy? Yes, but it's the ass-end of VD. Anyway, I'm done now--you can carry on.

(Next time, perhaps something with a little action and less use of the word "Cyclopean." If you're good, he, he.)