Without Guile

(whispering) hit play.

As the smoke was rising it got beat by the unstable wobble of the ceiling fan. “Off balance blades.” I thought. One of these days that is coming down on my head. My heart kept time with the spinning. I tasted the metal in my own blood and had a dull muffed noise in the back of my head. Staggering to get up I couldn’t help but notice there were parts of me missing.

“Oh man, this is what happens when you get hit by a truck?” The impact isn’t so bad but the roll under is what causes the damage. Bouncing and crushing, pulling my hands in and covering my face the momentum didn’t stop.

I tried to focus my eyes. I opened one and it seemed fine. No depth and the objects were farther than they appeared to be. I opened the other and there was gray. Well half gray and half black. Nothing more.

That’s when it became a challenge to remain vertical. Earth’s molten iron core wanted me to come home and my body left without giving my brain time to argue. Down I went and you would think the cuts I got on the side of my head would hurt. Surprisingly I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind the glass poking through my cheek, nor did I mind the unnatural angle my arm was bent into.

I could use a smoke right now.

Rolling onto my back I looked up. The water stains surrounding the crack in the ceiling came alive. Little spots became rubbery creatures pushing through the crack like they were running from some imaginary fire on the other side. 2 beget 4, 4 beget 8, 8 beget 16 and on and on and on until the room was filled. They took up all of the space, so much so it was hard to breath. Then just as fast as they had come in they were pulled back again, through the rift, and as they went so did I, until I was no more.