Falling

The feeling you get when you're falling; that lurch in your belly and that lump in your throat. You can't talk, you can't swallow. All you can see is the lack of ground beneath your feet. Stamina- it's inexistent. You're drained, yet still fighting from the initial shock. Like a rabbit in the jaws of a fox after a long, exhausting chase. Pinned up inside your ribcage is a heart, healthy and palpitating. It shouldn't be beating that fast, but you can't help it. I know my emotions are in my amygdala and other various areas in my brain but it seems like my whole body is affected by it. You grasp: desperately and inertly but you just close your fists around empty air, but it isn’t empty, you just think it is because there isn’t an object with enough mass in it to catch you and sustain you back to your “normal” state in which you are plastered comfortably to the ground with feet so awkward. They stick out and find blunt objects in the night; they twist underneath you and cause you to trip, to fall. I never did like the feeling roller coasters give me, and that's what I feel when I'm falling. What you feel. Maybe slightly different but we all feel it as we flow along down the path of life. My mind is pulsating. My brain is bursting out of my skull. I banged it on the way down. I banged it so hard that I could see an odd flash of white that illuminated my closed eyelids and the front part of my brain. My fingers were wet with a clear liquid, but the viscosity was not that of water. It was from a blister on my arm. Not the most pleasant thing you want to see or acknowledge when you're falling. Flipping and flopping about in the air like a fish flinging itself out of the water to get away from a predator and then falling back down to the dangerous waters below. My eyes stung, and you could feel yourself giving up, yet you keep on falling.