‘Falling to ones death doesn’t mean it is the end of things.’
The Ice Vulture and the Angel
Falling fast.
Life death, all things that nature never really last. The only thing which matters is trying from those to move past.
The remorse, the regrets, the failures, all those to be left behind. Once done, shedding those feelings, letting oneself become, the undone, something of the other kind can begin, another kind of tune to which with sing.
But what if there is nothing there? What then? What of the scare? Only the consuming darkness into which enfold awaiting? Becoming no more, the one single state always hated?
All of that which came before, wasted? Like the sacrifice made for others, not being able to watch on as they thrive, being alive just because the choice was made to keep them safe?
Falling, ever deeper.
The sensations of the body becoming clearer, the mind following suit. There is nothing more to be done except to let it happen. The inevitable fate down below waiting. Getting nearer.
The end.
There will be pain, for sure. But hopefully only for a diminishing moment before the cold grasp of death so pure ends it all. Must stand proud, be tall. It is just a fall after all.
Almost there now.
The ground visible. The irony of the beauty there, the blues, the whites, the greens, all the colours so bright and vivid as far as he eyes can see. Something of a scenery to be committed to memory during any other time… but this.
As soon, there will be nothing left. No more memories, no other thoughts, no nothing any more. It’s the way, the death’s score. The being that once was, no more.
Yielding, to the inevitable now.
Even if there might have been so much doubt. The mind always working. Trying to figure out.The before time, before the fall. All of it. But during the all too brief moment, some of it becoming pure torment of the mind… the only kind of thoughts being those… of letting it all go. The forever sleep awaiting. No more hesitation.
The ground almost at level.
The last resting place visible ahead there. Eyes closed, no use in seeing it all up front, close and personal. The final hit to the ground as the body crashing, falling into pieces, somewhere where there where no one else sees it…
Thank the Force for small favours!
Letting go, letting go… the mantra playing in slow-mo.
A gust of wind all around suddenly. The soft sounds of… winds flapping?
Birds of prey? No, no, no! They cannot slay! Not so dead yet anyway!
Eyes, eyes, all over spy, trying to find the source of why.
Another flap of wings, the sound closer now, somehow even larger this time around.
Falling?
No, slowing down.
Being grabbed a hold of somehow.
The softness surrounds. A feathery light touch all around.
A surprise!?
Am I, dead or alive?
The flapping of the wings continue, carrying away no more ground to be found. Higher ever upwards flying, another surprise! Perhaps even a soft smile? No more falling, that is nice. Feeling light. Ended has the fight, life, death, all things that nature. Is this something in between perhaps?
A soft gravely croak, somehow familiar sounds. As if talking, trying to understand the underlying meaning of the talk of it all. And then it hits. Like a ton of hard bricks! Inside of the head. A thought perhaps? A telepathic link into the mind sinks. The connection clearer now, as if a frequency opened? Or is this pure delusional hoping?
Dead or alive? The guess is as good as any of the mind.
Flying real high, far away from the ground and the fall. Perhaps surviving or then its just the remnant thought, of the body once brilliant having been. So many things seen, now leaving.
But the words inside get so much clearer. The voice so familiar that much is becoming surer.
Higher, ever more higher up. The clouds at reach now.
Could be so easy to touch them, but don’t dare. Not even daring to hope this is all real. Perhaps the one last dream before falling into the eternal sleep? Daring to hope perhaps not a good deal.
“I am here.”
“Who, are you?”
“I am here, for you.”
The voice too familiar. Having heard it so many times before. The soft hissing sounds, the gravely tone. Not of a bird, but someone, once known.
“I know you.”
“Yes you do. I came for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed me.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple, as that.”
“But you were…”
“I know. But not any more.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Am I alive?”
“That, is for you to decide.”
Flying over the lush green lands. Finally in good hands or rather, held by a wide wing’s span. The Vulture with the darkest of feathers so blue, taking the fallen towards the light.
Rantings Of A Third Kind 