Don’t go, don’t go!
She calls into the viscous coffee darkness.
It’s silly, and she knows it, because she is already alone. The inky blackness fills her lungs and suffocates her.
Please? she calls with an anemic voice.
It’s her own fault. She forgets that motion is relative. She forgets that some things don’t work the way they should. You can’t extend your elbow to a fire hydrant and ask it to accompany you on your springtime promenade. It’s difficult to be spiraling out of control in a stationary world.
I’m still here, the voice calls, the honeyed diction like a cool caress to a fevered forehead.
I’m still here.
And for a final sweet minute, she stands, cocooned in the voice, wallowing in the warm vowels and consonants.
But just a minute.
It slips away, sifting among her intertwined fingers.
It's amazing how you can write two lines to set the scene and ten more to make it come alive. The feeling of loss and helplessness fills every sentence perfectly.
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