Drop

Written by: Spotlite

Drop. Continuous fall. The temporary, elusive goal of stopping. Don’t worry. That’s not gonna happen.

Unrelenting chasm. Unconclusional ending. Is falling forever truly and end, or just the painful climax before the inevitable suffocation of air being forced up at your face at a velocity hardly conceivable until experienced by oneself? Truly, only he could think on this subject and not give up to go do other things. There wasn’t much else to do anyway, except ramble to himself and make up names for the seemingly omniscient voices desecrating his deteriorated mind.

For years he’d wandered those circles. Fallen into the labels of the unloved and underappreciated. The back alleys and dark corners of America welcomed him with open arms. Arms lined with “imagination enhancers” and dirty money. Drugs came free and easily...but nothing really comes free, does it? There was always that little cost tucked away somewhere, the fine grain not readable by even super-human eyes. Running some errands, selling some “candy”, even eliminating a few that didn’t pay their dues on time were tasks needing completion to appease the masters. Who says that crime doesn’t pay? It paid immensely well; anything he wanted became a reality. With the snap of two fingers, he could have anything he wanted: money, women, material goods; anything. Except happiness.

A good mood is a not a tangible substance; love is not something that can be directly seen; a true smile is not brought to one’s face without first being earned. When was the last time he felt like he was worth something? Not recently...if ever. His memory refused to let him remember a time of innocuousness and naïveté. This life of his had probably seen better days, but that doesn’t hold much ground when you can’t prove it.

He continued to fall, lost in his thoughts, or lack there-of, and remembrances of childhood. Soon, he could hear the sounds of wind and water. The bottom. After falling for 3 days, the thought of stopping was welcome, then he hit. Indescribable blinding-white pain. Then death. His last thought - and the moral of this story - Life Is Real. You aren’t going to wake up from it and it’s probably not going to get significantly better any time soon. And don’t say your life sucks, because if you’re reading this, you have the internet. That means you or your family has a fairly good amount of money because the internet is a luxury. There’s always somebody out there with it worse than you, so just suck it up and deal you whiney bitches. Live life like you care.