sixty-five : slam
In the grey light of morning he sits in the parking lot. Tiny birds swoop and dart around him. He watches them warily for a moment before sliding off the hood of the car and walking to the edge. Looking out over the street below he sees the people of the city moving like ants. Behind him, the birds chatter endlessly. He tries to shut them out, switch it off. They don’t stop. It’s too late anyway. He knows why he came up here. He knows he is beginning to believe them. They can tell, too, and they fill his head with a sense of certainty. He can do this. Of course he can do this.
When he jumps, his heart swells. The free-fall is love in slow motion. He thinks, I’m flying!
The birds follow him down. When he hits the pavement, people on the street see his body, they hear the rush of air, the crack and thud. But they can’t see the birds.
i’m not sure what this is meant to be. i had been trying to write my nanowrimo novel, and this happened. tonights writing playlist consisted of cave by muse, slam by pendulum and night of the lotus eaters by nick cave. i have to be up at quarter to six tomorrow, and not looking forward to it at all.
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