Dangle dangle

Recovery. Back to school, back to real life, and thus it is time to face the aftermath. Uprooted trees all over pisay, billboards torn to shreds, and a reality check: we aren't as safe as we'd like to believe.

Dangle.

Hell is a requirement, and another week lies ahead. Some damage has been forgotten, and some has been fixed. I am grateful. My world is held together by string; one string was cut. And another was tied back together. Nevertheless, I am thankful for the firefly that lights up the jungle of string. It has the space to fly away. To leave my world, and yet it doesn't.

Snap, and butterflies are released over the top of a white tall building at the breaking of dawn. She stands on tiptoe, feet barely brushing the edge, and stares into the infinite. She can't see anything.

Jump? Stay? Her toes curl over the buildingtop, and the sun is rising. Shafts of cruel, dazzling sunlight pierce her eyes. And she is blinded.

And she falls and screams. The butterflies release, and they fly after her hungrily, like a black and orange cloud, chasing at her heels.

She never hits the bottom.