Pass .. something. A construct, floating. No strings holding it up. Eerie silence as it shoots past.
But one can imagine the Whooomp-noise just fine. Hitting it would’ve sounded differently. Would they have been scared? It was rather close. Fast and close.
Thoughts drift. The numbers were received well. Not that I had any doubts. None. Yup., a small voice just whispers, treacherously. One smiles, in remembrance. Smiles very much. Loves very much. Does another feel? Feel the same?
Pass them again. Nuffin’ noone noticin’ anyhoo. Hidden. They talk about things one knows nothing about, sound crackling and imperfect. And yet knows so much.
One rests her temple against the smooth glass, watching the blur that is blue and white, and green and brown, pass by. Watching frills of black hair tickle it. Remembers tickling something else. And smiles again.
One relaxes in her seat, comfortable as it is. Far down another was. Messing things up, one assumes.
Pass them again.
One gets to pick another up. And then tinker some more. So much to do.
One leaves those in their cans of tin and wire-y stuff, heading down. Blue and white, feathered wings of light, spreading left and right. One added them, thought them cute. Another then made them work, thought them useful. (And, just in the privacy of the world within, very fullfilling, because it sprang from the mind of one.)
One smiles, heading down, dropping down, exhiliarated. Dunk on colour and speed. (And missing all the birds along the way.)