I had a vision when I was spinning you in the living room. You were two and I was 32 and my body functioned like an axis, twirling you around and around as you squealed with delight.

We were doing the dizzy thing.

In the reflection of the TV screen, I watched you grow larger with every rotation. You were a boy, then a teen, then a man even taller than me. Over time, I became smaller—my spine curling like a flower finally allowing itself the grace to turn inward. In the TV screen, I stopped spinning you. You became the axis. You began spinning me.

As I grew weaker, you grew stronger, whirling me in circles as I begged you to never let me go.

Please, I cried, don’t release me. I’m terrified.

In the TV screen, you pulled my frail body to your chest.

It’s time to fly, you whispered. Time to break free from this ride and allow the momentum to carry you somewhere. I know how dizzy you get, you said, kissing me on the forehead as my muscles spasmed a final electrical jolt.

You waved goodbye as you launched me into the blurry, bright beyond.

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Emily Buli makes films and writes ecstatic fiction. Her writing has appeared in Expat Press, Maudlin House, God’s Cruel Joke, and elsewhere.