Member-only story
You wake up falling.
You are falling through a void with no end.
You do not understand why you are falling or how you got here.
“I’m falling!” you cry out.
You realize that a man is falling next to you, each of your faces illuminated by a small glowing pendant on a thin chain around your neck.
“What’s your point?” the man asks flatly, almost bored, as he falls next to you.
“How did I get here? Why are we falling?” you plead, desperately now, because you are still falling.
“Everyone is falling. Always have been,” he explains as he falls.
You feel sick.
“No. No. Before this, I wasn’t falling. I lived on solid land,” you reply.
“Eh?” He raises his eyebrow at you and continues to fall.
“It’s true,” you insist. “Before I got here— I could walk on dirt, sit on the ground, lie still if I chose to,” you say to him as you fall.
“That is absurd,“ he says. “Solid ground is a religion for the perverse.”
You keep falling.
“Listen. It’s like this,” he explains, not without a faint touch of kindness now. “We were born falling, we have always been falling, and we will never stop falling.”
And you can tell by his expression that he has closed the conversation like one closes a forbidden book before throwing it into flames.
