CracksThis is part of the ﬂash ﬁction collection.
I don’t know how to explain what it’s like to have slipped through the cracks in the world.
Fallen through to limbo. Beyond where emotions roam. To lie upon the cold smooth glass and look up to the world. Feel the cold chill of the void beyond reality’s bubble.
This is very pretentious rubbish.
But I can almost feel my wounds open and bleed. Finally dissolving that unseen glass, delivering me unto sweet release.
Or so I’d wish it.
More probably, my blood would seep through; turn this frosted wall into a cell. My sanity would dribble out before my life. Branded by the bars.
I would rather die.
With dignity if I can and tragedy if I cannot. Yet pity and distaste are no ﬁt legacy. Even for my new stature.
Perhaps they look down while soaring upwards. Perhaps they rush away in fear and not ﬂush with ambition.
It has probably already begun. My living embalming. My memories pickled safely. My organs protected against the ravages of times below the cracked mosaic of reality.