This week’s flash fiction prompt from our Sparkly Badgers writer group was Falling. As I was writing it on #ShakespeareSunday (a Twitter hashtag thing) I decided to write a poem in iambic pentameter. Just FYI, iambic pentameter is REALLY hard… Anyway…
It’s stupid. I mean, I am an adult.
I work a 9 to 5 in a dull job.
I had a plan. This so isn’t the plan.
I’ve completely lost control. I’m falling.
Literally and figuratively.
Probably not metaphorically.
Can you metaphorically fall, though?
No idea. This isn’t a metaphor.
I don’t even remember how it started.
I can’t recall who started it, or why.
I can’t remember when things were normal.
They must have been at one point, mustn’t they?
I think shouldn’t have opened the note.
But if I hadn’t, if I’d just ignored…
What would my life even be if I had?
I’d still be in control, I know that much.
I wouldn’t be falling. Ears ringing loud.
Earth plummeting towards me. Wind so hard.
I cannot see, hear or think. This is it.
It’s over. I’m going to crash. I knew.
Always knew. It was inevitable.
I have always been so guarded ‘til now.
And now it’s over. My end’s nearly here.
It’s my fault. I know it is. I can’t stop.
Then I hear your voice in my ear. Cool, calm.
“Pull the shoot,” you say. “The chord on your left.”
I remember, I’m not falling alone.
I pull the chord and jolt. My decent slows.
We’re falling together. I’m not alone.
Falling’s not so bad if you’re falling too.