FLYING

A nanosecond had passed before I found myself dwindling in the depths of euphoria, for I was flying. Counter-productive though it may have been, I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing beyond the realms of mortality. I was chided by the Devil, for I had nothing to fear. 

A weakling, trembling at the knees like a twig ready to embark on its death, I came to realize that words couldn’t be reproduced by myself, an adept writer, to describe what I was feeling. A sleight of hand was committed, a gentle reminder, for I was flying.

No sooner had the blood started trickling down my pulsating veins than the reddening of my eyes began. I looked below, in fear, for I was flying. A wee teenager, nearing his end, a tragedy at hand. 

At that moment, I was dealt a hand of what they might call the opposite of a silver lining. The very framework of my mind started collapsing, seizing beneath the floor of my thought library, posing a significant threat. I shook at the sight, encompassed with fear. Underneath was a plethora of mind-boggling colors, for I was flying.

You might be confused as of now, and I do not blame you. Neither am I high nor am I dead. I am alive, a product of sin. A product of revolutionary thoughts, and stellar behavior. A product, of nature, said I, hopping off the nightmarish train, for I was flying.