Right Before I Hit The Earth Like Lightning

The slithering and sordid screech had evoked a sweet surrender to the senses as I plummeted through a clustered expanse—a burning, cutting arrow had broken through and punctured my aching chest. Thin scarlet streams spewed forth from the splintered gash, cradled by my trembling hands, disappearing like spiraling ribbons into the vast blue sky above. Cloud after breaking cloud, I sped and crashed through, lancing cirrus after cirrustratus, cumulonimbus violently coughing as we came in contact. My bare feet feathered almost breaking ankles and contrasting the soft blue hues.

 

The arrow would stay. There was no need to force the inevitable. And as I began to choke on my blood, a beautiful and faint arrogance tingled through, beginning in the back of my neck and forcing my eyes to fluttering white. The grunting pains became a soft singing not unlike the sound of slow bending saws in a large hall.

 

My body, though quickly expiring as it fell fiercely, began to vibrate with a furtive fever. My loins a roaring lion, my hands letting go of the small stave, and fingers crawled like frenzied spiders across dip and crevice, stroking madly, digging, scratching, bloody clawing.

 

And somewhere between a puffy pretty cloud, I shot my own arrow, poisoned with powerful people never to be. Like webs writhing and disappearing towards the sun.

 

Right before I hit the earth like lightning.

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