My fingers are cracking, bleeding. I'm hanging on so tight but the blood between the stone and my skin is slick and I feel the slip starting. The pain rushes through my hands. I grip tighter but it feels like there's no use. I scream, is it from pain or fear? No one hears. They are standing right there, but my screams are muffled in a whipping wind of constant noise. There's too much going on and I'm too small. How did I shrink? When did I become so much smaller? I smell the rusty tinge of copper and taste salt at the back of my throat. I swallow the blood and my voice cracks as I try to call out one last time. Is there even any use anymore?

A face below seems to lean my way. Maybe I was heard. The face turns. I slip more. The face is alarmed. I squeeze tight. I pray that I can just hang on. I've been heard, they're coming. The person with the face reaches up.

I let go.

I squeeze my eyes shut. If I can't see it, it isn't happening. I can feel wind whirling around me. It is filled with discontent, anger, fear. It's haunting voice, licking at the sides of my face, whispering in my ears. Discouragement, angst, anxiety. It lashes me. Pain. White hot pain in it's purest form.

It slows down. I still haven't figured out what "it" is, but I'm moving slower. I drift to a stop. My bare feet hit the cold, rough surface. The sky is overcast, burdened with the feelings hidden in the wind. A light drizzle kisses my skin. I hadn't realized how cold I was. I'd been falling in the cold wind for so long my skin was frozen. The soft warm droplets felt like kisses of healing, angel kisses. I look at what I'm standing on. Unmarked, grey surface. Not concrete. Not stone. Not dirt. What is this? It hits me. I am lost. I am in the middle of an unmarked zone on a grey day, utterly alone and completely lost.

What happened to the face reaching for me? How did I survive the fall? And most importantly, where do I go now? The rain behind me takes on a soft golden glow. I know that golden color. Honey, warmth, contentment, skin in the summer time. Bronzed skin under a July summer sun... I know this warmth.

I turn around and walk back into the grey. Avoiding the tug in my heart and the pain in my soul. It's always been easier to run.

1 comment

  1. If this is from your book, PLEASE dont quit writing. I want to read more!!


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