Estimated reading time — 1 minute
I am falling.
I have been falling for. . . oh, I don’t even know any more. A few million years? It doesn’t even matter; time is meaningless in the infinite.
There’s really not much of a story to tell. I was just sitting at home, there was a pain in my chest, and I was falling. At first I just started screaming, and waited for my skull to shatter on the ground. Didn’t happen. It was a few days later when I finally realized this might not be ending any time soon. I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t do anything right; I didn’t do anything.
And yet I am falling.
I can see nothing but the empty blackness of whatever I am falling down.
I can hear nothing but the air whizzing past my ears. (I suppose there must be air down here; wherever “here” is)
I can smell nothing except my decaying and withered body.
I can feel my skin, fractured and broken, some parts of me worn away into nothingness by the fall. I’ve gotten used to the pain. It’s more interesting than the eternity of nothing, I suppose.
Screaming? I gave that up after a century or two. No point. Not that there’s much else to do.
Maybe I’ll die one day. Whatever awaits me there has to be better than this.
Really, the only thing that actually scares me at this point is that I’m already dead.
Credit To – Bennings