The canister is too tight, but somehow I squeeze into it backward. It is like that guy who has no collarbone saving baby Jessica. My collarbone might have broken, but I don’t notice. When I perform, I feel nothing when it comes to my body. All facets of sense, all reactions to pain are externalized. I have to be careful. Hurting yourself is more possible than ever in this state. I believe it is where I have to be if I want to do myself in. Time slows down. The breathing sounds that my body makes on its own are the soundtrack.
Then, after the platform is released, and you are hurtling through the air, you are aware of something hurting in your body. The pain will stay in the air, you think to yourself, it will linger up here, becoming a sharp, sickle shaped cloud. An incisor tooth of pain that will drift like a balloon into the atmosphere. You can feel it leaving your body with a popping sound. You are relieved to not have the pain anymore. The net appears and you approach rapidly without feeling the pain.
He’s hurt. The pain followed his body to where he landed, and it regained its residency in a stabbing shock wave. The screaming that he allows is horrific. A hush comes over the crowd. It is noticed, and there is a distraction. A microphone is active and is telling everyone that he is okay. It says that he will be back after a brief visit to a medical tent, no problem. He hears the light fading and welcomes an incoming void. Sleeping in the hands of several people, he listens to dim light and faraway voices chattering.