Little Midnight
By Amber Jones
The place where the world stopped was not so strange, but the vertigo was overwhelming. The girl could not decide whether or not it would be wise to jump. She stood balancing precariously on that decision, the zephyr toying with the silky strands of her amethyst hair, her lavender eyes glistening thoughtfully in the starlight, her minsk nightgown fluttering playfully against her legs and her thoughts resting simply on the captivating tenebrosity that lay before her.
All around her luminescent spherules floated, rising and falling, causing the shadows to deepen in areas. Their nebulous illumination only serving to draw her attention deeper into the depths of that obscurity. Not a sound penetrated the odd thickness of silence that blanketed her surroundings, the magnitude of its mystery drawing her closer to the edge.
She felt as if her hands were tied, like someone was pulling her steadily towards that unavoidable darkness. Like she was meant there. She watched in shock as if she were not controlling her own extremities, she found herself at the edge overcome with a sensation of dizziness that made her stomach and thoughts whirl. She sucked in a deep breath as she was pulled over the edge, falling and sinking into the cold blackness.
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