Flight

My body cracks under the weight of the metal air. Brittle skin crashes with it, leaving peculiar indentations in the air's surface. 

We make no sound. No words are written. It seems as if a cloud of anaesthetic has penetrated me, keeping me in a constant vegetative state. 

I cannot change the world today. Sometimes Man can feel like a giant and reshape the planet, other times, he is an amoeba, aimlessly floating around in an infinity of space. 

And so we fly, onwards towards progress, almost unnoticeably slow...