The Golden Devil; Stopping The Towering Inferno

The Fall

The smell of burning food puts my mind at ease. My meal being prepared for me by my dad while I sleep. Then panic picks up in my heart, streaming it through my bloodstream everywhere in my body. Because that is when I realize I am in a hot air balloon, thousands of feet in the air. My eyes snap open to see whipping flames eating the envelope fabric. "No. No, no, no, no, no. This cannot happen." I knew when I took the balloon it was ancient, but not so old that the skirt was not flame retardant.

My descent quickens, making my head spin even more. I stumble to release the sandbags. They drop a fatal distance, along with my stomach. When I untie the last one with my unsteady hands I begin to gather my thoughts and belongings. I rush to tie my quilt around my neck, attempting to avoid getting my curls stuck underneath the fabric.

After tucking some food under my shirt I flip out a pocket knife and start sawing through the ropes. This is so stupid. I am going to die. Isn't this just perfect? Really bang up to the elephant. The rope snaps, making the basket uneven and it spirals out of control. I stagger to the other side, to cut another string to even it out.

Once it breaks, I manage to cut the next. Sparks fall onto my shirt, almost igniting my clothes. As the cord thins, I prepare myself for the jolt. The cord tears. The lurch sends me downwards. I almost miss the edge of the basket, however, my thin fingers work their way around the cloth that covers the wicker. My awareness towards the rapidly increasing pace splits to the ticking in my heart. Audible, like a bomb.

I swing my body, driving my lanky arm for the other wall. Failing along with frustration wets my eyes, tears rising up along with the air around me.

I have to stay focused. I rock my body once and miss. However, the second time luck seems to be on my side. The basket, now more of a makeshift parachute, slows me down enough. The last rope attached to the envelope breaks, leaving me behind.

The ground is far too close. That seems to have the advantage in which I can see a few trees. A rare occurrence. Most wildlife is swept up in gardens the aristocrats keep up in their zeppelins. I go towards the trees. I stick my legs out and force my eyes open. I know what comes next.

The stiff branches of the pines crumple my legs like paper, my mind not able to process the pain without losing consciousness. Sticks scratch my arms and face, needles running all across my body. I let go of the basket in the process. The ground rushes up to greet my useless legs. This is the Queens fault.

Static dots appear around the outside of my vision. My body gets heavier, threatening to break through the earth. My heart, I need to reach for my medication. My arms do not budge, the crushing gravity too much for them. My heart the only thing in my body working, however, it is working so well that it might malfunction or breakdown.

I will most likely die. Even If I survive this fall my broken legs will never take me anywhere. Maybe someone will find me. No. What a silly thought. If anyone found me they would rob me, after all the world has come to.

The static is now all I can see, the earth bending and pushing me through. I cling on for as long as I can. My father, I need to find him. However. . . Maybe he is there. Waiting for me under the ground. The thought slackens my body, letting the static consume my surroundings as I let the ground engulf me.