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 step.

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.

Deep breath.

I can do this.

Deep sigh.

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.

Oh God.

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.

Oh God.

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.

I'm falling...


It feels...

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...

It feels rea-