twenty fifth

An unpleasant feeling strikes his gut, somewhere below where he feels his lungs end but above his bladder. It makes for a move peculiar feeling, but he shoves it all into a little corner. Taking a step, he spreads his legs. Arms whip towards the ground, contact! Weight shifts, and his left arm tackles the burden of keeping the rest of his body off the ground. The floor rushes towards him, the cracks and the lines on the hardwood flying, waiting to embrace his face. No such luck for the wooden floor, as a shoulder slides in first. He feels his body slowly rotating. His belly is facing the sky, his front is exposed. Must twist hard is the only thought in his head. Holding his arms like he is hugging a barrel, he torques his right shoulder down and across. A million different feelings in a million different parts, but the main feelings are the pull from his twist and the ground rubbing against his elbows. The beanie he is wearing slowly loses its grip, and eventually falls, covering his eyes. Yet he continues, twisting and twisting and spinning and spinning. He feels like his legs are being pulled upwards, and then being dropped. It feels right for once.