Flash Fiction

You’re underwater, but it’s okay: you’re not drowning. You see yourself all around, floating in bits and pieces and strands.

You’re not exactly alone down here, though you’re not all-together, either.

Your body feels as it should, so you question your need for air. How silly they all are, you think, to have feared this blue orb

You’re not exactly yourself down here: your suspension has warped your view. You see peace in this still solution; you’re at home in this salty box. You know you must have found God in this poison: you’re no longer wondering what’s up top. 

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