Wednesday, June 1, 2011

And the Sky and the Ground and the Cold, Cold Air

He sat on the floor of his apartment. The wind whistled through the window, cold and taunting. He had no furniture. The carpet in the corner was torn up a little at the edges, but his bleeding fingers had failed at the task in the end, leaving crimson smears on the padding. He stared outside. There were sirens now, on the street where his furnishings were piled and smashed from the fall. He had not achieved lift. He was still too heavy.

He looked around. The bare apartment contained nothing else.

He stood. He breathed in.

He began to run.


Lanse said...

This was cool once I read the tags, but I think it might have been too subtle otherwise.

Sara Femme said...

what I got from it is my own experience, I suppose. I have a sister who's paranoid schizophrenic. I see this guy as being schizo - I didn't get the metaphor. I got the horror.

now that I see the tags, I understand more. I dig both stories, heh

Scattercat said...

People do weird shit. The important thing to remember is that no one believes themselves to be deluded, evil, or cruel...