E.R. Frank

I don't know too much else about it, though, because there's this thing you can do. You can make yourself fly up past the ceiling. You can make yourself stay up there, high and far away from everything. You can go right to Mount Everest, where the clouds and the snow look so much the same, you don't know where the clouds start or the snow ends. You can feel small and big and close and far all at the same time. You can feel dizzy and safe, both. You have to be careful not to look down and see what all's going on, because that's worse than anything and can make an avalanche crush you, but if you stay flying high looking up and out, you can freeze yourself and glide all the way through until the cold gets so cold, you just go numb all over, and it's like you're the last drip of an icicle that never got to drop but just froze instead. Every time you fly up high, past the ceiling all the way to Mount Everest, a little chip of yourself gets lost up there in all that cold, but you don't much care because it's better to lose a little piece of yourself than to let Browning find you and maybe make something dirty feel good.