The Flight of the Hemmingway
Shit, damn. I can't believe it. Of all the places it could have happened, it has to happen here, over The City.
The horrible urban monstrosity that makes the mills of Pittsburgh look like a flower garden laced with Poppies and Marigolds and Lilies.
Lily.
I close my eyes against the wind -- or is it me that is blowing past? -- and there she is, with all the corny cliches tattooed around her face on my inner mind: alabaster skin, raven-black hair, fnord-red lips, eyes as deep as infinity.
I want to hold on to this -- I have to. The only thing that ever made this world worth living in -- the only person worthy of the title Human -- this has to be my last thought. I have to release the psychic energy that will make this world more beautiful, more sweet, more... more like her. She deserves it. She deserves to have the world bend to her will.
...unlike me, who only deserves to be thrown out of an aeroplane for yelling plane in a crowded bomb. Stupid childish pranks. Now I will forever be an intimate part of the landscape -- a mark upon the misshapen urban post-industrial canvas.
How much further, her face still burning itself into my eye-lids?
Shit, not far enough! The hideous pseudo-psycho-angles and concrete! I can't get her face back! The world can't have more of this ugliness heaped upon it! I shouldn't have opened my eyes! I shouldn't have looked dow --
Shit, damn. I can't believe it. Of all the places it could have happened, it has to happen here, over The City.
The horrible urban monstrosity that makes the mills of Pittsburgh look like a flower garden laced with Poppies and Marigolds and Lilies.
Lily.
I close my eyes against the wind -- or is it me that is blowing past? -- and there she is, with all the corny cliches tattooed around her face on my inner mind: alabaster skin, raven-black hair, fnord-red lips, eyes as deep as infinity.
I want to hold on to this -- I have to. The only thing that ever made this world worth living in -- the only person worthy of the title Human -- this has to be my last thought. I have to release the psychic energy that will make this world more beautiful, more sweet, more... more like her. She deserves it. She deserves to have the world bend to her will.
...unlike me, who only deserves to be thrown out of an aeroplane for yelling plane in a crowded bomb. Stupid childish pranks. Now I will forever be an intimate part of the landscape -- a mark upon the misshapen urban post-industrial canvas.
How much further, her face still burning itself into my eye-lids?
Shit, not far enough! The hideous pseudo-psycho-angles and concrete! I can't get her face back! The world can't have more of this ugliness heaped upon it! I shouldn't have opened my eyes! I shouldn't have looked dow --