Work Text:
falling.
the rush of the wind a misplaced desire a final act cut short a Feeling lost in the distant cries.
you were never intended for this, were you
a machine of one purpose (to hate to despise to end to assist) someone you never will meet even in your final moments
a sort of connection one can hardly describe nor discern, a feeling of distant Wrongness as if the ground had dissipated.
the wire had been pulled.
the first true thoughts rush through a hobbled together mimicry of a mind.
reach out. let him grab on
and
then
crash