One Sentence

Somebody answer the damn phone! It was too loud, too annoying. He got out of bed, cold feet on a cold floor.

"But are you sure, are you absolutely sure?"

And there it was. Written on that stupid blue paper. He hated that damned blue paper, probably always had. It carried messages too clearly, as if they were written in the sky for all to read, no privacy, no tact. Just letters, forming words, forming one sentence, with one period. That sky, that blue sky, had been teetering, barely suspended above his head for so many years, perfectly balanced.
Perhaps it was that period, so final, that must have been the straw that broke the camel's back. Anyway it all came tumbling down, forget what did it, that doesn't matter now. All he knew was that he had been buried under eternity. Maybe not buried, no cliches, not "the weight of the world on his shoulders." That's too easy, too trite. It's much more like he was on the world, using all of his energy to keep it down, to keep it from spinning out of control. It was just a matter of survival. Happiness, sadness, all of that had to be choked off so that all of his energy and concentration could be used to stop the world that had jumped inside the hollow gray space in his soul. It was his world now, he had everything to do with it, but no time to appreciate it. His life passed away and all of his memories stood back in the shadows, if they could be seen at all, and watched as he applied all his strength to making his world stand still. The world that was the sky that was the paper that collapsed in on itself and into him and consumed his life. He was made useless in a sense, because of his inability to do anything but fight nature and stomp his world into submission, or die trying.