I wrote this in the school library during the week before summer vacation. I saw something on top of a bookshelf, and I had to write about it. Towards the end it gets REALLY weird, but oh well. ;)

+++

Do you know that the ledge you're on has a drop-off? You walk along, thinking
your feet will stick like glue, but what if they don't, and instead you spiral
downwards to the rough, gray ground below. You might hurt, but chances are
you'll realize your mistake before you hit bottom, so you'll remember to spread
your wings and fly away, saving yourself. Do you even think? What's inside that
tiny mind of yours? Anything at all? Do you do things, not realizing you're doing
them, or do you not even have a mind? How do I know that you can think or
can't? Were you really saving yourself, or just flying because you could? Did you
realize your sure-to-come demise, or did you just get bored of the freefall? You sit
atop the barren mesa, not moving. Are you dead? When you do move, is it
because you want to, or because of involuntary muscle spasms? You're so small, in
a world so big. Are you afraid of the things trying to get in your way? Have you
ever felt yourself drawn into the reflector's dazzling glow? Do you see yourself in
millions, within the concave platter of rotting filth? Rotting filth, now is
that filth becoming clean, or just becoming even more rotten than before? Does it
matter which way you look at it? Flowers in the melody, but have you even tried?
To heal the moon, or tame the wind, or even domesticate the waves? Spiraling
your warrior's feet as you think about the light. Does the starlight shine so bright on
the other side of the world? Don't go yet, we're not through exchanging light, but
you've left me with the fly.

+++

~Den-"I don't understand the ending either"Kara