C O L D
He was falling.
He could see the great light above him, ever so bright; and the walls that surrounded him: bright and colorful and filled with dreams of the ones who were capable of dreaming.
Up here, the roads were wide, the lights were bright.
He could hear the distant chattering of the people who could afford the time. He could smell the scent of baked buns. He could see the lavish cloths people wore to cover their skin. The laughs, the jingle of coins, the gasp of shock as someone noticed him…
He heard the wind whooshing beside his ears.
He heard everything.
Then, he saw the transition begin through eyes that he could barely open, heard the change as it took place, smelled the sweat replace prosperity.
The sky became smaller.
His breathing slowed.
The chattering was fainter, the laughs, quieter. The lights were slightly dimmer. The cloths looked cheaper, the walls plainer.
People here had little luxury and little time to spare. Weary eyes glanced at him, aware of his presence but never stopping to question.
They shuffled through the occasional crowds on the narrow roads, quickly and expertly, conserving as much time as they could.
He closed his eyes.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
The air smelled of stagnancy.
He opened his eyes.
The light was but a speck in the sky now. The tight paths so dark and the depressed, angry walls full of empty doors that once held hope--now forever abandoned and never to be seen the treasures that once lay within.
The city began to cocoon him like a spider.
He saw people, haggard and sagged, sapped and wasted, shuffling monotonously through the throngs of others that lived here, eyes as dead as the lives they were made to live.
They did not notice him.
Down here, where the rays of the sky did not reach, no one bothered with anything but themselves.
There were no chatter, no laughs, only the friction of rough cloth against skin, and the dragging of feet.
No one had anything to spare for anyone else.
He watched as the light in the sky slowly faded from his sight.
The wind came gushing up from beneath him.
For a moment, he thought he could fly. He allowed himself the luxury of dreaming, that in just a while he would be up at that ledge again, at the top of this dreadful city so many had been forced to call home. He would be just a foot away from reaching the top, just two moments away from seeing the outside.
Two moments away from escaping this dark, horrid cage that the people up there had placed so many in.
Two moments away from freedom.
He had been this close.
Time seemed to slow down the more he flew up.
The entire world seemed reluctant for him to reach his dream.
It seemed hell-bent on destroying his hopes.
No matter how much, how hard he tried.
The stretch of black that never seemed to end smothered him. He felt like something was stuck in his throat. He struggled and clawed at his throat, hoping to relieve the clog, even until he bled.
His eyes lost focus.
The air rotted.
Faintly, he heard the echoing crack of his body hitting the ground.
Faintly, he felt the uneven surface underneath him, the cold cement ground, the protruding pieces of bones.
Faintly, he smelled the forever-lingering smell of rot from the people who dared as he dared.
They were all the same.
They had all been that close.
