The electricity was evident. Sparks enveloped the air. A shockingly rare occurrence of animal electromagnetism.
Needless to say, with a magnet like that pressed up against my moral compass, finding north was all but lost in a dream. So, it quickly went south, all-encompassing as she was, and, as the degrees increased, every cardinal direction was swept by with a sin to match.
From the beginning it seemed that everything had been set in motion based on a heading that no one involved was quite aware of. Initially we thought it to be written in the stars, but we failed to realise that it was a case of astrology versus astronomy.
Opinions on nuclear families were quick to be mentioned but faster forgotten. Fusion is purportedly safer than fission, but, in hindsight, we were the eternally failing example against that.
Soon after we began to rub each other the wrong way. She was hot when I was cold, and vice versa. The friction between us burst into a buzzing static which eventually consumed us in raucous storms of thunder and lightning. Those several dark clouds precipitated our downfall.
The gravity of the situation was not lost on me, nor on the relationship as it swiftly found itself falling at max speed. And as we tumbled, head over heels and back round again, spinning, spinning, spinning, I realised that terminal velocity isn’t particularly deadly, at least not as deadly as the ever faster approaching ground and subsequential rest.
When the dust had settled, and a void-like stillness engulfed whatever was left, all I could do was collect my thoughts. Things fell apart for many reasons, but ultimately the catastrophic failure that was our relationship quite simply boiled down to a complete and utter lack of chemistry.
Daniel Guy Baldwin is a writer currently living in Newcastle-Under-Lyme, a Philosophy graduate from Keele University and trying his best to write meaningful fiction with varying degrees of success.