Loss for words.
Overlooking the below-freezing temperature you would have to endure to stay in there, imagine what it might feel like to sit inside of a crate or cage in the cargo hold of an airplane flying 35,000 feet above ground. Elevated, for the sake of argument, above land which is to-the-millimeter even with sea level. Your own personal cell happens to be of the breathable, slatted sort. The kind you can easily see your surroundings in and even stick your fingers through if you feel so inclined.
Now release that selfsame enclosure. 35,000 feet and free-falling the entire distance. A clever person might notice, or even come into this situation knowing, that gravity accelerates bodies moving within it.
This is you one mile higher than the highest point on earth, and while there’s nothing really important down there waiting for you to arrive you are all the same helplessly descending faster and faster each second. You can see distance outside and ground and everything around you approaching, passing, receding - mostly birds and clouds for a while, but eventually there are distant structures which seem level with your body, level with the capsule that is everything you have. In every moment you are here. The distant horizon eventually supersedes your altitude. You can feel yourself passing though physical space. From where you are this is more real than anything.
Accept the instant right before you hit the ground. The trepidation. How loud you might scream if your lungs could keep wind long enough to form words. How bottomless the pit in your stomach is. It is the next thing you have to fall through.
All at once think nothing of the impact, and think of nothing but the impact.
This is how it feels.
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