Yukio Rising

The heat spilled from his belly, the pain washed through him like an electrical shock causing him not to double over at first but to involuntarily look up wards to the sky. The sky was blue, very pretty bright and blue, he heard the beginnings of a thousands poems enter his mind and did not know if the heat on this fists was the humidity and sweat of the mid-afternoon, or his own vital fluid that was now cascading out of his torso. He had once read Bataille in college, about the ecstacy experienced during torture. He remembered the photograph of the Chinese woman being cut alive into 100 pieces. the pain was magnificent. It extended to his groin, down his legs. His vision had not yet begun to fade as he continued looking up toward the sky, the evisceration not even halfway complete he saw the sky come forward as in a 3d movie, gaining speed like when one dives into a lake from a cliff. It came closer until he passed through the blue and the heat of the sun to find himself in a colder auburn colored atmosphere, beyond that the stars, and always gaining speed. The cold had enveloped his face and the pain had made him feel as if his body had altogether dissipated. He could not tell, if he was now blacking out due to loss of blood or if his vision really had become pixilated and the stars were closer than he always thought. He was loosing speed now, but the starts were brighter than ever. The feeling of rising, falling, had reversed its trajectory and he felt still, suspended in space. Curious as to where he was, he bent his head down to see just how far he had flown, if he could still see the earth below him. There it was. A bright blue marble awash in a see of solid inky blackness. He felt the weight of his skull grow heavier, bending him down, down, back to the earth. His chin dropped, this spine arched forward, and at the last possible moment, the sword fell.