Rolling down the hillside,
Merle’s body made it’s way to the rocky crags beneath,
Merle fluttered in and out of his head.
There was a bliss when he rose above into the warmth, and didn’t have to feel every splitting crack in bone, every cruel tumble and snag on skin and clothes. Every hot, wet drip of red.
Yet, there was a looseness, a feeling of his self escaping as he became disembodied.
He felt glassy and tried to throw himself into the weighted doll that left him.
Futile effort made in desperation,
and yet, two days and he wakened shattered, breathing in jagged breaths.