She

She is running down an endless staircase, all she can see is what's down. The stairs are crooked, she knows she must walk carefully lest she falls but she's wallking so fast it's almost like she's falling. She can hear the creaking sounds from the wooden stairs she's treading upon. There is darkness below, it feels like she's in a house, except that it's not a home, it's eerie, there is fear inside her gut, ever increasing. She knows she's being followed. Apart from running away from them she's also heading somewhere below; to something in the darkness below that's so tempting, and with the feeling of morbid fascination mixed with overwhelming fear she's falling and falling and falling inside this deep gorge of nothingness. Her mind is devoid of thought and she can't speak even if she wanted to. The Listeners will never hear her voice, for they are reading her soul. Then... THUD. There is a crash, a loud deafening crash that pierces through. She feels as if her brains have blasted. And though it is supposed to hurt she doesn't feel the pain. She is drowned in inexplicable, incredible, and indescribable ecstacy. Out of the world. Then blinding breathlessness overcomes her. She is dying, she can feel the blood drenched all over her white gown. Hot and cold, warm and dry and she is soaked in the pool of her ruins. She can distinctly make out the old familiar voices. She wants to cry out, tell them that she is in a safe place, that she is now more free than she could have ever been if she lived a whole life. But then no words would come out. She is now floating in a white bottomless world. No body, no face, reduced to nothing but a beam of light. White bright light surrounds her and she can hear nothing. She can't do anything. She can't feel anything. If life was an illusion, this afterlife is her reality. Death hasn't brought her the freedom she had been longing for. A mere speck, her soul, in a world of white, in a world of snow.