Flight Wave (Tune: Oblivion by Grimes)
There's a strange, blinking noise coming from downstairs. A mechanical click follows it, and then something swishing around. A thud thud against the leather sofas in the living room gets me out of bed and waiting at the top of the stairs.
I let my tongue taste the air, my own danger detector. Rotten wildflowers.
A voice stutters out, carry me, followed by the creaking wooden floors, like something dragging itself up the stairs.
From the hallway window, I see a bright flash of light scan the front yard. A familiar dead pan voice tells me its time to go back home. I shake my head. No, I don’t want to leave. We will extract you, they tell me.
The radio switches on to white noise. A broken voice says, good morning people. It is 5 am and the weather is raining blood. Leave your doors open as today is extraction day. Aren't you all happy to return home today? Lets have a look at traffic, people. By the way, stop resisting, it whispers to me. Take the flight home.
The ground quakes under me, and the entire house is soon being swallowed by the ground. I can't scream. Besides I don't think I want to. I run down the stairs, and out the door.
Ashes sit light on the grass covering the neighborhood. Pale white, the world is silently withering. Give in, the sidewalk seems to say. Time to rest. We can try to put you down where you stand.
I can't figure out what to say, so I grab a handful of ash and sniff. The psychedelics hit me fast and hard. I'm sweating and crying while a sing song voice hushes me from beyond the burnt apple tree. I gaze at it. A shadow crosses the fence and waves to me from behind the tree. Come, it says. I walk towards it, reaching out. When I am close enough to feel his breath on my cheek, I grab his throat in a choke hold, and squeeze. You and I, will always be natives, I say. He doesn't struggle but only smiles. I am all sadness and loneliness, but I don’t let go.
When I am sure he is still, having dropped dead on the pile of ashes, I let go and step away.
Sweetest kill, I think, all nostalgic. I have got to stop doing this.