And like no other sculpture in the history of art, the dead engine and dead airframe come to life at the touch of a human hand, and join their life with the pilot's own. ↗
A breeze blows up, touching my cheek like a little child's kiss. It flutters a piece of paper. "Trash, out there? Must belong to one of us." We move closer, and when I reached for it, I find...... a perfect paper airplane. ↗
I don't use airplane bathrooms. As a rule. And I really don't like breaking rules. (It's kind of one of my rules.) I mean, if I'm going to plummet to my death, it's not going to be with my pants around my ankles. ↗