Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
©July 30th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
When the world blew up, and the sky fell to pieces, I flew for the first time. My atoms took wing, my flesh disintegrated, my “I” flew into the sun.
There was an explosion of pain beyond imagination.
Fear doesn’t exist in the face of such pain. Fear disintegrates into bits of flesh that fall in slow motion over an uncaring land.
My past died. The “I” that I was, never was. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, light unto light.
I’d lived, loved, learned, left — this, the sum of me.
Somewhere, there was grief. It might have been mine.
My second story contribution to this week’s prompt for Friday Fictioneers — it’s darker, I’m afraid, than my last story.
Thanks, Rochelle, for hosting. We love you!