If I thought my blades would take take it, I would have smashed this helicopter into the walls by now, but it would do no good, the steel would bend and snap, I’d crash and never soar again.I’d do anything to see the perfect enfolding design of these maze walls sundered and ruined, I hate them more than I hate myself.

If I thought it wouldn’t kill me to land just anywhere, I would. But the ground is treacherous, pure fields of colored energy, and I know as soon as I stepped out onto them I’d be disintegrated.

My body has been in the cockpit for so long that I don’t know where it ends and the chassis of the helicopter begins.

But then there’s the Pink Cross. It’s 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 forever, make a home. No more roaring of this copter engine. Quiet and harmony. Maybe find there’s soil underfoot, plant something. Maybe I’ll dismantle the copter and use its pieces to build a device with which to safely traverse the energy fields below. 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. I’ll never fly again, I’ll never ever 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 does, too.

posted by Snail at 10:41 pm