This piece may very well be upsetting for most people. I cried when I wrote it, so that might be an indicator.
To get the full effect, I advise you to get the song Clair De Lune by Debussy playing as you start to read, and try to read slowly; make the story last as long as the song.
I apologise in advance if this upsets anyone, feel free to review/PM your thoughts.
(I have put a link to a version of the song in my profile)
This isn't going to take much effort on my part.
One teeny tiny, little step.
I glance behind me: the empty plain; grass sashaying in the blustery winds and birds twittering as they hop from bush to bush.
It should be beautiful.
I know it should be beautiful.
But it isn't.
It feels fake.
It feels hollow.
I feel hollow.
I can do this.
I can't do this.
Right. Music is needed, I think. Yes. Music.
I scroll through the specially prepared playlist on my MP3 till I find what I need.
Clair de lune, by Debussy.
The perfect melancholy starts in my head, and soon spreads down to my fingers and my toes. I feel a small smile grace my face. My eyes close. I take slow, deep breaths. I am nodding with the poetic chords as they reach each wonderful crescendo.
I start to dance; weaving with the notes and with the wind.
I'm spinning now.
I'm dizzy, but I can't stop. It feels real. It feels right. I can't stop now.
The void looms, it twists and turns as my balance rebels against my body.
Here goes nothing, literally.
I step forwards, still swaying. My dress whips around my arms.
Oh God, it feels...
It hurts, and the pain is so wonderful.
The ground is rushing towards me. I can feel the wind tearing at my hair, my clothes, my skin, my soul.
It feels rea-