I’m walking in nowhere and suddenly
I am pushed down.
The ground breaks way, crumbling faster than I can think, faster than I can breathe, faster than I can even comprehend.
And underneath it is a pit.
And as I fall down, getting faster and faster and faster and faster, like there’s no stop anywhere, and swords and knives are thrown, farther and faster than I can think, stabbing me, digging in my skin, ripping out pieces of muscle and bone, blood spilling like rain, acid rain falling from the sky after a nuclear bombing, one that killed thousands horribly.
The blood and gore falls around, around me like it was sprinkled around me, like it will follow me forever, like this is all I am destined for, and all I will ever live and breathe for, all that I am meant for.
And I almost splat. On what appears to be the bottom of the pit, and I rest for about five seconds only to have the earth crumble again and the mess of knives and swords comes again, except they hit me more. A broadsword cuts through my skull, cutting into my brain, and gore comes out, blood flowing out, and screams echo. I’m hit by a feather, that says the word, “sorry” on it, but then the broadsword stabs me in the brain again, even worse than before, more blood flows out, more gore falls out, and salt is rubbed in the wound. I fall down, and I swear I almost die, yet the blood and gore still falls with me, the knives and swords still fly, and
Splat. I hit yet another thing that appears to be a bottom of the pit. And I rest again, for another apparent five seconds, and then I fall again. Fall even harder, my heart is ripped viciously out, split into three pieces, one for each fall taken, each torn to bleeding, messy shreds, two pieces. And I get feathers thrown at me. They tell me I am getting this for what I am, for what I’ve been all my life, because of words on paper, words that have been read over and over, because of a scarf, a scarf that hides. The knives and swords stab where that heart used to be, blood flying in the air, gore splatting the walls of the pit, bones cracking and snapping. More is dug out, because of the words and scarf. The feathers tell me.
I’ve reached the bottom again.
But this time, it’s the real bottom.
And I can’t believe it. The ground isn’t crumbling. I’m just sitting at the bottom. The REAL bottom.
It’s covered in blood and gore. A pool of blood and gore. A pool so deep, the blood flows into my mouth and I choke on it. I choke on pieces of my own heart stuck in my mouth, of brains dug out from the broadsword, of bone chopped out of me, of all that has been ripped out of me, has been taken. I lie there, out of breath, too tired to care that I’m drowning, that I could die, that this could be my final breath. Just lying there in the feathers, blood, and gore.
And the feathers cluster around my back.
They’re red from the blood, dripping with it, and have gore stuck to each one. The feathers form a dual structure around my back, the pieces of bone being the structure, the gore attaching it all together. They are red and dripping, but they form. And I realize what they are, how great they are, because they
Are wings. Great, big, powerful wings that spread from my back and around, like I was And I try to flap them, but they don’t work until the very last time, the time I want to give up. And they are slow, but as I use them more, they get faster and faster and faster and faster until I’m shooting by the swords and knives, I’m too fast for them, I’ve finally beat them, it’s my turn now, I’m flying so dang fast that feathers fall off as I fly, that the feathers falling off doesn’t even affect me because I’ve gained SO MUCH momentum, that the feathers falling off actually helps me get faster, that they become kind of an issue, but that’s alright because of them falling off.
And I’m out.
And I’m out of the pit.
And I still have the wounds, scarred up though.
Never will I forget it all, no matter how much people tell me to, no matter how much people want me to, no matter how much I am told to do what they believe is right about it, because I know what it was like, they were not the one being gored nearly to death.
And that cannot be changed.