April 8th, 2007
If I thought it wouldn’t kill me to land just anywhere, I would. But the ground’s treacherous, pure fields of colored energy. I know if I tried to step out onto it I’d disintegrate.
My body’s been in this cockpit for so long that I don’t know where it ends and the chassis begins.
But then there’s the Pink Cross. The only place I know that’s safe to land. When I see it coming, from around a corner, I get so excited, I get so relieved. I say to myself: “This time I’m going to rest there, really rest there, make a home. No more roaring of the copter engine. Quiet and harmony. Maybe find there’s soil underfoot, plant something. Maybe I’ll dismantle the copter, use its pieces to build a device, something that’ll let me safely walk the energy-fields. Maybe there’s even someone else like me I’ll run into. Who, like me, was once a maze-roamer, who has finally touched down to start a new life. There it is, I’m going to land. Thank god. I’ll never fly again.”
The truth is, I never stay for more than an hour. I look around, get bored.
I don’t even bother getting out of my seat.
The stillness makes me nervous. The silence too.