Falling From The Sky

Every once in a while I think about falling from the sky, every once in a while I do. I peered over the ledge of the building, watching as birds came near my face and as wind brushed against my cheeks like strokes to a canvas. I stood with both my arms stretched outright, imagining myself creating a succulent snow angel in the middle of spring. The wind blew again against my face, but this wind was much less forgiving than the last. It brushed against my face like millions of tiny needles pricking into my skin. It felt like the first time I got a tattoo, except exemplified against my entire body. I felt shivers burst up my spine, and for the first time since standing upon these rafters, I felt cold. I felt so cold, and yet at the same time, when I looked down to see the pavement waiting, everything seemed so warm. No single person looked back up at me, I had no one to greet me nor stop me. The world was mine. The ground was my limit.

I took a deep breath, and then plunged. I let my entire body sink towards the ground, as if my entire being was the north, and all of Earth was my south. It drew me in like nothing had ever done before, and all the air rushing against my body, trying to stop me from becoming human slime felt so entrancing. It was an addicting feeling. However, upon my descent, I felt time stop all around me. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and I began losing myself in a trance, “Not again,” I thought. I would never come to be able to break myself from this lucid dream. I was stuck in a placid flask filled to the brim with acid. The sensation of it on my skin was also addicting.

“Do you really think that’s true? All that crap about his daughter?” The voice came to me as quickly as I realized where I had been sent this time. I found myself staring straight into the sky, with small puffs of smoke seeming to rise from below me. I reached around my mouth to take out the cigarette planted there and looked to my side, where my red haired friend smoked as well. The day was young and beautiful, just like her. The sun had a small radiant on the back of my neck, but it felt nice. The winds were subtle, and no one seemed to mind us as we smoked openly in a children’s park. In fact, there hadn’t seemed to be much people to begin with. I remember that day like any other, vividly and haunting. And now I was forced to replay my nightmare.

“Sure you want to dye your hair red like that? Sticks out more than anything, you know that,” I said. She looked at me with her cigarette nearly falling. She shrugged and took a puff out before speaking, “None of your business. Besides, nice change of pace. Nothing ever happens around these parts. Nothing special at least.”

“Red’s a dangerous color, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Red’s the symbol of love–”

“My blood is red but you don’t see me showing that off.” She sighed then shrugged again. Almost as if turning on a bulb in her head, her eyes suddenly jolted open and she began rummaging in her pockets. I raised my brows in response, “Never heard of running squirrels in your pocket.” She then pulled out a photo, and shoved it in my face. I ignored her blatant attitude towards keeping our friendship and quickly grabbed the photo before it got singed in my cigarette smoke. I nudged her in the arm for payback which translated to me a laugh from her. I looked at the photo with scorn, but once I realized who it was I stopped dead on the spot. My cigarette fell to the floor in a manner only described as dramatic television and I looked into her eyes with worry.

“Do you really think that’s true? All that crap about his daughter?” She asked again. I took a deep breath and then slowly iterated every word that came out of my mouth, leaving no room for excuse of ill hearing, “What happened to his daughter?”

“Do you really think that’s true? All that crap about his daughter?”

“Just tell me!” I snapped and yelled. I yelled much louder than I cared to think but I yelled far too loudly. Her response, a small chuckle. I snapped again, this time, much more aggressive than I could ever come to imagine. I grabbed the hem of her shirt and brought her face towards mine. Her velvet lips tempted to allure me into a trance of eroticism, but I shook my head and pulled on her shirt even harder. I wanted to cry, I really did, but I didn’t and I held her in my frustration until my hands finally began growing red. I let go aptly, and then I said in a defeated whisper, “Please, tell me what you did to his daughter. Please.” She didn’t answer. She looked at me with her cigarette still in her mouth and said nonchalantly, “I thought you would understand. You were the only one who ever tried to understand.”

“I don’t want you to do this. That’s not why I began trusting you. That’s not why I–”

“It doesn’t matter. We have money now. Can’t you see that? Can’t you at least be happy?” She raised her voice. Much more loudly than I could ever think of, but she raised her voice. I couldn’t reason with her anymore. I couldn’t do anything for her anymore. She was far too much for me to keep track of by myself. She was already far enough as it was, but now she was even further. I could never catch up to her anymore. I could never reach her. And, before I knew it, she was gone. Her cigarette dropped onto the floor in a manner that could only be described as dramatic television, and the car that rammed into her trashed itself onto the sandbox. Red was spilt all around the entrance of the park on the sidewalk, and nothing resembling my old friend remained. This memory has become my nightmare as I’m falling from the sky. And once my friend had perished, I am suddenly jolted back to my own reality.

I am falling from the sky with both my arms stretched outright. The ground below me is my only sanctum away from my own dreaded fate. I await it every time I find myself falling from the sky. And every time I am ready for the impact, for myself to become human slime, I am suddenly brought aback to the top of the building. I find myself standing with both my arms outstretched, with the wind gently stroking my face as I make a snow angel in the middle of spring. I step back from the building, back onto the roof, and then re-orientate myself. My head is spinning and the only thing on my mind is the time I had with my friend. The time her red dyed hair became something much more than just a sign of rebellion. I cried for only a minute, then, I got up, I stepped back onto the ledge of the roof. I brought both my arms back out, and let the winds carry me. I let my body fall. I let my body pour itself towards the earth, as if my being is the north, and all of earth is the south. I allowed myself to be swallowed in self pittance, and as I do so, time stops. Another nightmare begins.

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