Metal Horse

The burnished rider’s red hair is slicked back. He is stooped by experience, his sky blue eyes overlooking a fine long nose – a fox lightly guiding the massive mare. He revs her up.

The plane gallops full speed on the tarmac. The passengers feel its excited gait. Up and off, a smooth transition from ground to air, a collective sigh as the metal horse strains on her reins and reaches up to the sky. Foamy clouds stream by, no doubt escaped from the mouth of the beast.

She looks out the window to the water dotted with green masses, a pétri dish of festering bacteria, overgrowing its liquid support. Further out in the distance, lakes shaped like cartoon fish, fins well drawn. A brown-red river snakes lazily amidst the lush vegetation, sunning itself.

They hit a few air pockets. Seasoned travelers laugh them off, others look to the flight attendant for reassurance. He is a large fellow, his good looks momentarily overshadowed by his skin’s green tinge. He smiles wanly at them, his pale eyes watering. The turbulence doesn’t last long.

As they start the descent, a crowd of windmills wave their welcome with their long arms. The whinnying beast slows down, it’s windblown mane flapping about. It comes to a satisfying halt, its flanks heaving and trembling from the effort. The plane disgorges its content; the flight attendant throws up discreetly in the w.c. He has almost successfully overcome his fear of flying, but turbulence shakes him to the core.

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