My soul is heavy, metallic. It is sinking—sinking out of my body. It has become an iron element and now tends towards the slow-revolving molten core of the earth. It is difficult to endure the constant pressure exerted by my weighty spirit, trying to escape. It is depressed, subdued, and plummets to the floor, settling in my feet when I stand, only spreading into the rest of my fleshy body when I lay flat on the hard ground and press my sweaty palms into the solid unyielding concrete, much to real to allow another body to pass through it. The rich plasma pumps through my tight veins faster, faster, trying to keep up with the needy demands of my tensing muscles, Fueled by my burning cardiac muscle, tighter tighter, tetanus? Not quite. Lub-dub. I close my fired-up eyes against the florescent lights overhead and feel the cooling pressure of my dark, blue eyelids. Sucking the lightening air into my lungs. Hold it. Hold it. Balloons float. Counteractive measures. I am lighter, its working, I wonder if I could hold this forever and maybe start to float. Too bad there isn’t Helium in the atmosphere. The fire spread to my lungs now. Woosh. My respiration works double time to pay off the Oxygen debt it owes by now. On second thought the air is a much more effective fire quencher than helium. My lungs start to calm down and the pressure in my fingers, in my toes, in the pit of my stomach returns in full force and drags me down. Someone must have turned up the gravity, maybe its not my soul. Turn off the switch, seriously. No the other people are taking the change pretty well, their bodies are the same material as mine.


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