Not falling, but sinking. It was like being pushed by an invisible hand into a sticky mire that smelled of rust and rotten flesh. He struggled, but his limbs were bound by invisible chains, and every breath was filled with fishy-sweet liquid.
He stood on a twisted street. The sky was a dirty purple-red, like a giant bruise. The buildings on both sides were crooked, the windows were empty eye sockets, and black, tar-like liquid seeped out of the walls and dripped to the ground, making a "sizzling" sound, as if strong acid was corroding the ground. The air smelled of blood, ozone and despair.
