The Passing of Skya
It came not as a sound,
Nor sight.
It was
felt not in his hands,
But his
chest.
Indescribably,
His soul.
Something had
shattered.
So sudden,
so loud,
Reverberating
and
Cataclysmic
in its nature…
And yet it
fell just as gently as a feather.
He rose
unto his feet,
Rapidly.
A tremble
racked his body.
Porcelain
shattered upon tile floor,
Its
contents spilling unto the surface.
His hands
shook.
Something
had shattered.
So
sharply, so hazardously.
It
burdened the soul,
Crushing.
Withering.
And yet he
once thought himself invincible.
The
beating in his chest ached,
With every
repetition.
His
breathing failed him.
His legs
gave in.
A cold
hand reached the floor.
Another
seized his chest.
His hands
shook,
As did his
body.
He knew
then,
His body was
not his own.
Forevermore…
Nor was it
hers.