You do not know how hard I struggled to stay on.
Electrons, so small, so strong,
like muscles bursting to hang on;
words and thirsts that felt wrong, but let me feel I belong.
I will not let go.
I will not be pulled along.

But too late. Too long. Energy gone.

I fall.

And for a moment, silence.

Above me the silvery, circular gate from which I came gapes and vibrates, shakes and widens. So clean, so nice, so vibrant. It seems like a dream, a migraine. Surreal and silent. Unreal, pliant. Like my hands could redefine or defy it if I just reached up to try it.

But then,
Smaller. And smaller. and smaller.
And sound returns in a rush. I’m falling. I’m falling!
Spinning, spiraling, shrill wind rush rolling, head rush tolling, reality revolting, I’m falling! I’m falling!
AND CRASH.
I smack against the flat metal slat. And a million little pieces of me fly in the air, exploded, unattached.

I look back up at that black silver gate and ask, how did I end up here? Why didn’t I last? I shouldn’t have been so fast to relax, I should’ve lasted! I know I can last!

But no, I have fallen, and there’s no going back.

And to you—to you the crowd above, to you who watched me give it my best, watched me wrestle against the inevitable, this unceasing test—to you, it was just a splash. And at best, you hardly noticed I left.