She lies back. Her hair looks operatic. The sheets are bunched in ridges. Incense burns beside her bed. She wears socks to bed. White socks. They seem small. She bites her lip. Her brow furrows like the sheets. She pleads. Her toes stretch, they try to escape feeling. Her eyes lose focus. The sensation passes. The sensation has dips and valleys and mountains. She’s in a valley. Her hands make circles. Fingers rivulets. Her skin is warm. Her shoulders shrug. Her body twitches from her abdomen, in little shocks. She gasps. Makes mouse sounds. She circles. Writhes. Her hand pulls her chest. Circles. She breathes, a long exhale, following a twitch. She sees something far away. Something that takes her breath. A long trail circling a beach to a lighthouse. Her neck and cheeks have douses of red, like sunburn. Her eyes close against the waves. More powerful senses activate. She stretches. Dominant. Gripped by her own fascination. Pain. Close to pain. She pinches herself. There are flashes of fear in her eye, as if doubting the waves that flow and cause her jumps. Then a light appears, and there never was fear at all, only calm. She juts her chin outward, like someone catching snowflakes on their tongue. She frowns. Breathes harder. Her neck shrugs, bearing weight. She speaks, but forgets language. Her hand slips. Her lips tender, her thighs warm. She breathes, exhales, holds in. She shoots forward on a rail, some kind of track. The track goes high from a valley and up a mountain. There is a loop-de-loop in the distance. She loves that part. Her hand circles faster. She climbs the track upward. Sometimes it doesn’t reach the clouds, it stops at the peak and falls back. Today it reaches beyond them. She remembers an embrace. Throbbing muscles. Past emotions. She’s approaching the fall. The fall that takes her breath. The plunge towards earth. Fast. She reaches a ridge. Smells incense. Calls a name, a nameless name. Plunges. Falls upward. Her body is loose, uncontrolled, shaking. She holds the walls from caving in. The bed from splitting in two. The car she’s in hits the edge of the track, disconnects and falls a thousand feet towards the pool. She’s going to hit. She wants to be soaked. She wants to hit. The water and applause and the end of the ride. The end of fear. But she forgets the loop-de-loop. Her stomach is in her throat as the car goes around. Everything stops. She hits water. The silence of nothing. She comes up for air and sees the room, the bed, the incense, the posters, paintings, her little white socks, her panting breasts, her eyes in her mirror, her parted mouth, her shimmering lips, the tender, short tuft of black hairs.