Parallels
[the fall]
To make her own blood twirl and her head spin in confusion — that is just what she needs, to merge with the sense of loss.
Her jump never meets new ground. It is a circular chain of the same air and space, with images of her falling and falling again in the bottomless pit she made on her own.
While it is useless, it helps her make sense of all of this. It gives her the illusion that there'd be no walls, that she could break free, if she tried really hard — it feels like she could crack the floors and the ceilings with her own weight, defying the end and beginning all things have, physics first.
It gets dizzy, it gets meaningless, when she remembers it won't help her go anywhere.
She makes herself land with a bellicose grace, her hair and breath frantic, on nothing more nor less than the same boots.
[the mirror]
She stares at the long row her self paints on the walls.
That is not the right corridor to get lost into — she should move forward, look for another path to crawl in. She still lets it tease her, gifting it with bits of her time; in any case, she has nothing left to waste.
It is a game, and one she feels the need to play.
She reaches out her hand to the nearest shape in line, just a step away from her. It is natural for it to retreat — its essence is swift and fake, the one of a mirror.
Bruised skin, torn orange fabric, a million identical backs - that is all the ghosts of herself will ever let her see. But she knows better. It is just a game, a very cruel one.
She erases them with her portals, and her body is once more left alone.