Skyfall

The sky is falling.

It plummets in shards of blue, smashing and crashing and shattering into thousands of mirror-bright fragments. In one there is a cloud, in another a bird.

There are sharp, jagged edges biting into flesh. Slice and dice and rivers of crimson drip down porcelain white fingers.

Ignore the pain, the sharp edges; pick up the pieces and slot them together to form the night sky, bright white diamonds scattered on black velvet.

It's a picture, covered in cracks. Spider-webs trail across the surface of the moon, ancient and old and tossed in the corner with the dolls you've outgrown to collect dust.

Touch the water and it ripples; the picture ever-changing, never smooth. Circles within circles, a maze with no exit.

The mirror is cracked, the reflection twisted and distorted. You can't trust what you see with your own eyes anymore, you must rely on others to tell the truth of the matter.

Pieces fall down; silver rain, silver bullets. Liquid fire burns the land and the swing crumbles to ash. There will be no more growing here.

Wind blows, whip sting burn. Fans the flames, bonfire raging out of control. There's no more water; the land is parched dry and the earth is cracked and dead.

Everything is cracked; the sky, the moon, the mirror, the land. Broken, shattered, fragmented. Nothing is whole any longer, the fairy tale has lost its words and the princess has been eaten by the dragon. There will be no happily ever after because there is no longer any once upon a time.

Tilt your head up and hope for rain to bring back life, mend the cracks with water cold and clean. There is only blood, welling from the crevices and dripping down, drowning and thick and redredred. The sky is crying.

The sky is falling. Balance is rocked, feet unsure. Metal burns, icy-sharp. Perhaps you are one of the fey, iron burning cold as fire.

White limbs and black hair and blue dress fall, plummet with the sky. Graceful even in stillness; a wilting flower, a swan that has flown one last time. Once, long ago, you were a swan. Now perhaps you are one again, one older and wiser and more broken than ever before.

The sky is no longer falling. It has fallen, and the night comes rushing in to claim the world.