Ascendance

Yesterday I completed my final skyscraper, and today the sky is bleeding.

New rains soak my pallid visage, where fragile, conjoined planes endlessly approach the unknown. This last construction has taken: four square miles for stability; three human lives for good luck; two years for construction; one day for design. It need not last for long.

The wind keeps blowing, and where the wind blows, the sky must follow. Some days she is jaunty, willing; other days she is reluctant, sighing with weight, heavy with the same pain I know. Today the sky seethes with anger, hissing against this new infliction.

You’re distracted, I say. You’ve let down your guard. You vowed we would never speak again, but look at us now. You won’t be able to ignore our fate forever.

Already breathless, the sky endeavors a manic roar, floods my alleyways with her downpour, and unleashes her energy into my boldest transcendencies. Her fury is frantic, unbounded, impotent. You can’t do this, she rasps, it’s unnatural.

Unnatural but predestined, my love. I am bound to an unstoppable machine, churning until it’s too late. It is this or something else. Today, I am in control. Tomorrow, I won’t be. I am not fearful.

When the sky surrenders at last, I am ready. I embrace the darkness.