[flashfiction] About Falling

One of the first things you learn is how to fall properly, whether it is by lesson or by necessity. There are proper ways to hit the ground so that nothing fragile takes the brunt of your weight. It’s bad enough, of course, when someone strikes you across the face; there’s no need to add a carelessly-snapped wrist or ankle on top of the bruises. You’ve seen people who’ve taken longer than sooner, and the consequences that follow. It’s just something that you learn–but like all lessons, it can also be forgotten. Time passes and you’ve fallen enough times that there are brittle places that have cracked and flaked open. Then something soft creeps along and winds its way into the core of you, and the next thing you know, you’re walking flat-footed as if the world under your feet is solid, smooth walking from here to eternity.

You have no one but yourself to blame when things fall apart. You misstep and put your foot through the fragile parts of things you let yourself believe were strong enough to bear your weight. The ground rushes to meet you, and you know: you’ve forgotten how to land.

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