She Stood Atop A Mountain

She once stood atop a mountain.

Her arms outstretched towards the clouds as she balanced on the snowcapped peak. Cool winds had wiped by her gracefully; dancing with her. Euphoria had been seeping from her pores and sunshine exploded from the blood in her veins.

She once stood atop a mountain.

Until someone—something—pushed her off the rocky ledge.

She falls through the dark clouds. Deadly shocks of lightning pierce her skin and roaring thunder throws her around like a diseased rag doll. The euphoria distorts into uncertainty, and a strange pull towards death overcomes her. The sunshine from her veins turns to black, thick, suffocating tar. Hollow, heavy rocks gather and pile into her organs; filling her lungs, chest and stomach. The weight of them force her to fall faster, unable to claw her way back to the mountaintop. If she could tell the world how falling from the mountain really felt, it wouldn’t be like flying towards the ground at deadly speeds. It felt more like watching a wall of paint dry, unable to touch it to check its progress; or awaiting a single blade of grass to grow only for it to be cut every few seconds.

It was like drowning while planted firmly on shore.

Or watching everyone around her soar and fly through clouds with confidence while all she can do is fall with the weight of rocks in her organs and the tar in her veins.

She once stood atop a mountain.


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