April 1, 2011 – Air Pockets Beneath My Wings

Vivian sat for a long time staring in the direction the cat ran. She was afraid to blink for fear of missing its return. Her eyes began to get very dry from being held open by force for so long. Her corneas became brittle and tiny fissures were snaking their way across the breadth of her eyeballs.

The skies opened up a torrent of rain clouds propelling a sticky adhesive everywhere. It took a Herculean effort from deep inside Vivian’s soul to get up from her familiar guarding post and move. She had to get out of there quickly or she would end up being literally glued to that spot.

The searing pain she experienced as she involuntarily allowed herself to blink again nearly knocked her back down. It was like rubbing course grade sandpaper over a blackened roasted marshmallow, in both directions. She could feel the burnt layer peel forward as her lid closed and then rip back upon itself as her eyes opened again. And even though the entire action was complete within a millisecond, her brain waves slowed the transfer of the electrical signal for pain down to where it felt as though the scalping of her eyes had lasted for hours.

The second time was still excruciating, as well as the third but less so with each blink. Her legs were carrying her faster and faster without benefit of knowing where they were going. Vivian simply ran for cover from the gooey rain. Before she could decide on whether to duck under a stack of partially crushed Pontiacs or inside a cave carved out of the center of James’ rotted peach pit, the ground gave way and Vivian slipped beneath the surface.

The free fall to somewhere other than there was exhilarating. The air coolly rushed around her limbs and smelled of honeysuckle on a damp Sunday morning. The world above faded into a weak buzzing she could barely hear anymore. The action of falling cleared away any debris remaining on her body and clothing.

Vivian stretched out her arms in front of her, put her head down and aimed for the pin light.

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