The Vision of the Fall

On all fours, watching his tears fall with raindrops, John fell into to a fall. His abdomen seemed to loosen and stretch out like a balloon. He gasped, and caught his breath, and heaved out yet more tears. Once more, the image of his mother's face - so clear he could see the scales of her skin, so vulnerable! - passed over his mind's eye, and so the knowledge of life's fleeting nature swept his world away, just as The Great Flood had once swept the earth clean of its unseemly accruements.

In the midst of this torrent, visions, sensations: blinking sunbeams through a blinking forest canopy, blinking consciousness, blinking light; shimmer-shattering beneath his skin, electric bursts, like a light-storm of subtle sensations throughout his body; a deep, earth rumbling hum, auuuuming through his mind; his mother, dying, letting go of his hand; a flower wilting; the sun, dissolving in an all-illuminating light; white-noise in his vision, in his hearing, in his sense of touch, whiting out the shadows of particular sensations, in a womb-return, a woomerry, wormerry, whirling wroom. White-out.

He surrenders to the indeterminacy, and looses himself completely to utter silence.

What was left, after the heaving tear-flood, was the raw gaping wound of the world, stripped of its vestments, left naked, exposed. John, once returned, felt cold raindrops pat on the nape of his neck, and his lower back, where his shirt had come loose from his jeans. His palms lay flat on the pavement, given in to its support. He was breathing deep. For a moment, he attempts to stand, but collapses face-down into the pavement's embrace.


The End

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