Venting Far

[Lavínia]

I step on plastic bottles, feeling the texture and the sound of bending. Beneath the plastic is glass. Below the glass is sand, and further below are distant pebbles. With each step I take, I hear the sound of compression, the force present in absence, and the repulsion to recompose the adornment. Step by step, I feel the breath of my progress.
In the sky, there is a concave mirror. Enormous, surreal. Its designs show a sea of countless bottles, waiting for me to step on them. In the center, deformed and in full focus, I see my face looking at me.

- How much longer will you step on it? How much longer will you listen? How much longer will you look at me?

I fall on my back, watching the reproduction of my actions in the large mirror. My fall is grand, occupying 80% of the sky. My face is no longer the focus, now my stomach is the subject of the sky - its lure.

- The sky is not mine, so why does it reflect? I will wait.

I'll wait for the bottles to give up, to fall into the glass. I'll wait for my skin to dance on the glass, until my blood dries. I'll wait for the sand to get wet, and create a sea of crimson salt.

I'll dance on the rocks, and the sky will finally show only me.