A breeze? A gust? Just a sound, rushing by my ears. It is emptiness, a kind of freedom almost. I feel my shirt, lashing wildly, slapping at my cold flesh. My eyes are closed, all I see is a white blank under dark lids. The wind is ceaseless - just a growing rush. Where am I? My conscious is absent, yet I feel the air slipping through my fingers, feel the dance of every strand upon my head. Heavy eyes open, slowly, and gaze upon glory. Cotton fields of water shrink above me, grand paintings upon a blue canvas. And then it stops. The noise is gone, so too is the wind and the light. So too am I. Just a dark, pounding silence. It is emptiness, so constricting. Where am I? I will never know.


It blinds me, a pain temporary. Such solitude, only blue above and yellow around. I feel death on my cheeks, burning shards. My fingers twitch, skin like stiff leather. Lips part and glue tears at stone flesh. Ash fills my throat, air feels absent - as does my tongue. I yearn for something, I feel it digging deep, clawing at a void. My lips remain parted, praying. The blue is gone now. Just grey and black, and still yellow. I blink and it falls, with a roar. Tickling my nerves, satiating the languish.