Creative Writing Journal- "The knot"

The knot-a doubled-over length of rope, tied tight and strung around a stout tree trunk. A purple knot, to match my vibrantly blue hammock. I tied the knots myself, hung the hammock, too. It would be my fault only if I swang once, then plummetted to the dense forest floor.

The knots hold. They creak as I rock, the bark compresses, threatens to slip the rope. I stare through my cocoon, watching squids wrestle with gnomes in the sky. I'm alone and quiet. No one nags about chores or yells their agenda at me. Homework and college applications never existed. No squeaky fan or whining T.V. distracts. The inaudible whoosh of my hammock fills my ears, blocking my thoughts. I make myself sick, looking backwards, as the upside-down tree swings as a pendulum, keeping time with my effortless breathing.

I lie, embraced in yards of rope and parachute, until the breeze becomes a violent gust. It swings me higher and higher until the strong knots I tied fray and snap. With one last blast of wind, I'm thrown into the air-past the solid trunks, past the unreachable canopy, past the blue sky, past the clouds.

I'm flying and falling through arcs and spins. I'm off and I'm not returning.

Goodbye, Gravity.

(What I see when I look backwards and up through my hammock.)
(And then just up.)