The Sky Below

by Philip Matcovsky

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​Jo can fly. But don’t look up, she won’t be in the sky overhead, the one we can see, the sky that hosts all things that fly. Jo sails the inner sky, where there isn’t a bird, plane, or sun, just a vacancy, an endless hole. Inside the belly of Earth there isn’t a mass of fiery metal as hot as the sun, like scientists claim, but an emptiness instead that provides relief, Jo says, the inner sky, where she floats mostly, kind of hovers in place, as if a gentle hand is holding her up. She spreads her arms and legs to feel like a star. Jo describes it as cleansing; compares it to sitting on the beach being washed by the ocean’s breath and the rocking sound of waves, forward and backward. Before and afters are rinsed away there, in the sky below your feet. My favorite part is that Jo talks to Earth from the inner sky, not to invisible earth creatures, but to Earth itself. What is said between them is very personal, about who she truly is, and where she comes from. I’m left to imagine the details.

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Philip Matcovsky’s writing is nominated for Best Small Fictions 2026. It features in DarkWinter Literary Magazine, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Literally Stories, Amethyst Review, Braided Way Magazine, Odyssey Magazine, and elsewhere. Philip is a lightworker and cosmic traveler based in New York.

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