Everything was beautiful. The sun shone brightly down on his upturned face. His mind entered that near-perfect, near-empty state and he quietly began to merely exist.
Everything was beautiful. The corner of his mouth turned upward. He stared blankly, taking in all and nothing. The world stopped turning. The smoke from his hand slowed, curling lazily.
Everything was perfect. His lungs burned pleasantly and his brain coughed for him. She turned and he disappeared into her waiting lips. He fell for miles. Something vaguely atonal played, lost in the background.
Everything was perfect. Movement became fluid, singular. A man signed a piece of paper. Atonality became Neil Young. He ran a finger down the tanned skin of her arm. She recoiled. People shot at each other. Things exploded. Grown men wept like children.
Everything was going according to plan. Fabric rustled through select hands. Sorrow became a commodity. Her chest heaved, half exposed. Drops hit pavement. Men talked. He inhaled, letting the nicotine destroy him.
Everything was going according to plan. He smiled as his life faltered. A child played, laughed. Pain gave way to unease. Her eyes shimmered. He closed his. Hands held tightly. mothers cried.
Everything skipped a beat. Bombs kept falling. A country became an abomination. He squeezed her closer to him. She snored lightly. Hell became manifest. Public consciousness fixated on 15 year old singers. All was well.
Everything skipped. His nose dripped in the cold. Powers collided. Fire raged through houses full of innocents. Systems began to fail.
Everything was peaceful. Except the world. Except his soul. Calm pervaded his exterior. Lust propelled their movement. Dreams gave way to recession. Clouds gathered on the horizon.
Everything was peace. Except everything.
Everything was collapsing.
Everything was beauty. He smiled and clenched his fist.