The Fall

With one eye on a skewed, gilded mirror — horrified at the bloodshod eye reflected back below a cheeky cherub’s posterior — the other blinded by sudden sunlight through muslin, William had an awful feeling of falling and thought, either he was sinking fast or the hotel was. As his hangover dissolved into a cacophony of screams and alarms tumbling from the corridor, the rattling of the chandelier as it pitched and crashed, the fall of the television from the dresser, and the smashing of the bed’s edge into his legs, which pushed him onto the Juliet balcony confirmed, beyond any doubt, the latter.

And now hanging off the balcony — his choice limited between prolonged dangling and premature plunging — this was an undignified way to go public with his fetish, William reflected; whatever was consuming the building would soon usher him into a sweltering eternity wearing nothing but his wife’s lacy knickers and negligee — shit, he thought, as he fell.

© 2017 Occasional Dreams
In response to: Three Line Tales, Week 62
Image by: Serge Kutuzov

Many thanks to Sonya for hosting Three Line Tales.


4 thoughts on “The Fall

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