Page 49 of Peaceful Chaos

For a moment, I'm weightless as the force of the blast lifts me off my feet. I can see every detail, and it's almost like I have hours to realize what is happening, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. I don't dwell on it though, because I'm too distracted by how everything is loud and quiet at the same time. Ford's lips move, but the only thing I can hear is a steady hum buzzing through my head.

My attention fixes on how the orange, red, and yellow flames seem to reach slowly toward us. Tiny shards of glass float away from the windows, catching the light off the fire and the sun, glittering as they spray from the building. I can see the ground rushing toward me, and despite the fact I feel like I can mentally prepare for the impact, the feeling of slamming into the ground jolts my entire body.

The rocks in the path dig into my skin and my head jerks forward violently as I slam in the ground. All of the clichés about seeing stars suddenly make sense. I see an entire constellation swirling above my head. It rotates faster and faster, and with it the feeling of time moving slower than normal disappears. My stomach lurches, and I fight the urge to wretch up everything I've eaten since I woke up.

Black dots dance in my vision and start to spread, but I force myself to Army crawl to where I can somewhat make out the shape of Ford laying a few feet away. He's so still, and with my vision cutting in and out, I'm not sure if I can focus enough to see if his chest is moving to see if he's breathing. Each inch I gain across the ground drives more sharp pieces of rock and shards of glass into my bare skin. I don't stop though, because I need to see that Ford is still alive.

I make it half a foot, and I can make out his face. He's covered in a grayish white dust, probably from the ash of the explosion. That isn't what causes me to ignore the pain radiating through my body though. It's the trickle of blood coming from his ear.

"Ford, don't you dare die on me," I shout. At least I think I shout, because my own voice sounds like a warbled out of tune radio station. He doesn't respond.

More noise bombards me from all sides. It sounds like voices, but not a single word stands out. With a shaking hand, I touch my ear and feel a sticky wetness on my skin. When I pull my fingers away, I can see my fingertips coated with blood and dirt. I guess Ford isn't the only one who looks like hell.

Boots come into my line of sight just as my vision wavers once more. Everything fades into black, and that feeling of floating returns. This time I don't fight to push it away.

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