Author: gunshowone

Takeoff

Constricted to space smaller than an average human.

A stale scent is abundant. A mix of plastic and person being cycled over and over.

A morose crowd. Agitated in their cells. Uneasy with their accommodations for the upcoming hours.

A foot and a half of space between you and the wall in front of you.

The whirring of constant white noise of mechanical work. Infrequent dings break through the hum.

Landing

Beeeeee

Silence. Never.

To not know absolute quiet again.

eeeeee

Constant noise.

A broken drum.

eeeeee

Peace has been made.

Understanding that this is the new standard.

eeeeee

The sound keeps coming.

No one else hears it.

eeeeee

It is inside me.

No remedy.

eeeeee

I have made peace with it.

It can’t harm me.

eeeeeep.