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what did you think at the edge of your flight? what was your last thought before your lungs ate your ribs? who was your last memory before your neck collapsed and it was dark forever?
what was it like to cross the railing? on the apex of loneliness, the blade of divinity? have you ever touched a power so condensed? did it make your hands cold? did you think you ever might miss yourself? did you beg one last time at the corner of the iconized vault, for someone to clasp you down and pin you back and tell you that you were too loved to leave?
was the salt water mouth flood a relief of your rough, raw, early life?
people commute between the long arches, made into magnetic red alters. the fog dunes crumble and fade to the small light afternoon sun. someone retrieves your tender carnage from the singing ocean. you lie, both hurt and unhurting, under their acrid yellow tarp. no one can spectate.
Emma is a 20-year-old emerging poet and short fiction writer who has not yet been published.