Nature’s laws are now Nature’s suggestions.

The land is gone, Or perhaps we should say floating. Life now exists in the air, on strips of continents that defy gravity. And below… only the vast ocean, as far as the eye can see, with a scattered few islands that survived The Levitation.

No one, no one goes down. For a simple reason: if you go down, you can’t get back up.

The only way to do so is to either jump or go down through aviation. The former will kill you, and the latter is only for military personnel.

Either way, my life was in the skies. She was my ground.

“Will you marry me?”, the moment of truth in a beautiful date, our _final_ date before I asked her to marry me.

A small restaurant hosted us, on the edge of the floating islands. It had been the same spot I took her for our first date.

On this evening, the sky was painted purple and orange and the sun sparkled gold, while a smooth jazz band played some soft tunes.

I had taken her to the back of the restaurant, on a grassy field by the edge of the island, looking on to the horizon. Not too many people were there, but the few had stopped eating and looked at her with held breaths waiting for her response,

“…I’m sorry…”, the silence was broken with a whisper, I thought perhaps someone else had said something, but she continued,

“I-I’ve been cheating on you with your brother”

Like a deer in head lights, frozen, my mind crashed. Her image slowly contorting into an indescribable image. After some moments, she moves in and puts her hand on my elbow to help me get up. But it’s like her hand burns me. I slap it off and a welling of tears starts to build up.

In anger and frustration, I stumble to find my ground, and at that moment, I slip on some loose rock. Luckily, I reach back for the grass, only to find that there’s nothing’s there. As I fall backwards, the fall seems excessively long, as well as my speed starts to increase as my ex’s face gets smaller.

After a few short moments, the island now a spec in the sky, With a slam, the air leaves my lungs, and what replaces it is water, lots of it.

I try to cry for help, but instead of out, everything rushes in. My stomach fills with liquid salt. My eyes burn, and all I see is darkness. If a bird flying over were to think, the image it’d see would be somewhat amusing: a beautiful still ocean surrounding a small spec of agitation.

The bird would perhaps try to relate to the spec before quickly finding out they are not the same

“Doesn’t that spec look like me the way it flaps its wings?” Yet noting quickly how they differ it’d say

“…Or perhaps a dolphin, the way it bobs: going down and back up?”, though it’d find grace lacking in the movements.

Finally, after some time, it’d conclude,

“…Or maybe a whale, coming up for air for the last time before it sinks to the depths of the ocean…”