Even If The Sky Comes Falling Novels & Stories

The threads, gold and dark, dropped together, falling east, falling toward that rising shape, falling into the wound that never healed. Light shot through the sky, impossibly bright, and everything went silent, washed white.

Jack stood there, his emotions swinging wildly from deep sadness to elation, his heart on an emotional roller coaster. He held back this time, realizing that Hannah's relentless behavior would only leave her more deeply wounded. All he needed to do was offer her a warm shoulder when the dust settled, and everything would be alright. As the helicopter faded from Hannah's sight, the dying echo of its blades pounded in her chest like distant thunder. Eventually, she could not stand it anymore and just crumbled.

Jack nearly fell from the rail as the breath struck his blood. Kneel, little cub. Jack's eyes flashed. "No." The word was small compared to the sky. It held anyway. Fenrir's eye turned toward him. Then come closer and say it where I can taste the lie. A bridge of moon-shadow extended from the sky to the top of Sterling Tower. Not an invitation. A leash pretending to be a road. Marcus's voice came over comms. "Do not walk on the creepy sky tongue." Haley, from Nightingale, said, "Seconded. Never trust infrastructure that comes out of a mouth."

Across the sky panels, I see cracks forming. Each crack pulses in rhythm with the ache inside me. “You want exceptional?” he says softly. “Let’s escalate.” He lifts his hand. The city below freezes. Cars halt mid-motion. People suspended mid-step. Time isolates me. Then— The air tears open beside me. Dylan falls through it. Hard. He lands on one knee, breath ragged, eyes wild. The moment he looks up and sees me— The heat detonates. It is not gentle reunion. It is collision.

The person you're facing right now thinks it's a good idea to play with others peoples lives and also has the audacity to drag them into what's suppose to be their own business. Well he's wrong. You're gonna prove him wrong. The sky is a widow’s sky, bedarkened and weeping. The clouds are churlish and kraken-cruel. They cough out great gouts of water and thunking balloons of sopping moisture. It teems down in a biblical deluge, flooding the rivers, drowning the fields and overflowing the dams. It is a Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, an unending cataract of water sluicing from the sky.

I didn’t get a chance. Death was, and evermore is, indeed unexpected. No one knows when it will attack. I thought it was a sky of blue in which we both passed through the game of courageousness, but it was a sky of red that signified one had survived, the other had fallen. And that made me feel too.

“Look up.” Eamon didn’t have to say it twice. The courtyard halted mid-stride, mid-order, mid-argument, faces tipping as one toward the sky. The moon had cracked before; now it came apart. Not shards. Plates. Vast, slow petals of stone and light peeling back from a burning heart. Silver fire spilled out like the inside of a wound, bright enough to turn every shadow into an honest confession. “Down!” someone shouted pointlessly, because there is nowhere to hide from a falling sky.

But why? “With the Angel is means the heavens will fall. The earth will still bleed.” Jadara speaks after some time. The sun has disappeared and I’m still sitting in the jungle listening to the animals and birds going about their lives like nothing is wrong on the ground. Life continues on while I’m stuck in a dilemma.

The earth vanished under their feet, and the world became a single endless fall. Sky’s scream disappeared into the twisting darkness. Wind roared around her, but it was not her wind. It was something else, cold and strange. Colors vanished, leaving only black and gray. The fall was short, but long enough to carve helplessness into their souls. Sky hit hard on a cold rough surface. Her ribs protested, and she gasped for air. Magic burst inside her, trying to protect her, but it could not soften everything. Behind her came more heavy impacts and painful cries.

When I look into the mirror I see five of myself, all looking pale. Is it the wine? My fears are confirmed when I cough blood into the pristine sink. The red hue moves slowly down the drain as I start to fall. It has never been this painful before. I try to hold on tighter but my hand is slipping, my breath becoming heavier. “Drew…” I try to scream, but my body meets the floor before I can make a sound. The beeping of machines is like a distant song that’s all too familiar. It draws me out from an otherwise dreamless sleep which feels good for a change.