He knew it would come, he could feel it in the air. Every goodbye seemed valuable, every hug in slow motion. Even the trees knew, he was going away. They waved to him swayingly, or maybe it was just the wind. The rain, it knew too. Every droplet of rain seemed to fall directly on him, washing away the sorrow of possibly not feeling the rain tomorrow. He went to bed afraid the he wouldn't be remembered after he was gone. Would his children know that pa thought of them before he left? He fell into a tired sleep. Falling, falling, falling. Falling into a house with no ceiling or floor, only walls. Falling into a parallel death. Falling into the leaping fire, darkness surrounding him, swallowing his whole. The walls are squeezing the life out of him. Life, what life? He's gone. His life is yet a strand of hair on a lion's mane.Birth sign: Taurus
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