- Chapter 1 - In a restless state, I kicked my legs over and through the bedsheets, at this point lying sideways, the length of my body juuust reaching each end of the bed. I hooked my ankles over the edge of its mattress with my soles remaining within a metallic bed frame which angled to cover the sides of where one's head would otherwise be. I ran my feet along the poles, too large in diameter to fit between my big and index toes. It had a coolness to it, though the granularity of its surface, my adolescent mind might expect because of such it to not be as cool as the comparatively smoother tiles of the shower room in the corner of my vision, for instance. With disregard for the voice of an elder sibling showing grumble that my movements throughout the bed formed waves which disturbed their use of it as table for puzzle, I asked towards that aforementioned shower room's light just what I was wondering. Why was it that the bed's frame felt the way it did? Why did I think it was the temperature it was? For what reason did it find its shape? Mind you, asks not so eloquently said as when one gives themselves some minutes of time to prepare via writing. There was no response however. I knew there to be someone on the other end of the doorway; after all, I could hear water's muffled striking of a sink, its movement thereafter through the walls. I turned to the sibling whose efforts I so inconvenienced just before, my question remaining likewise unacknowledged because of such. I turned to the man in military uniform standing motionlessly beside one of the room's two outward doors, a response as if nothing had been spoken whatsoever. Through a repeat of this supplication, I asked about the suitcases lying across a set of chairs against one wall. Was it the question itself that wasn't enough to grab anyone's attention? Again, silence from each; no one would recognize my existence, my plea for attention, a satisfaction to curiosity. How frustrating! But then, isn't this just the fruits of my labor, spoiled and sour as those fruits, and concerned only with itself as that labor might be? Pushing a cradle of sorts, through the closer of two doors to the soldier's right, came out a young lady, roughly my age and with a height that only allowed her to grasp the handles of her endeavor upon stretching upwards. She wore a frilled dress in black and white, contrasting from my plain white, nigh the uniform of a maid but in the image of it. Her mother worked in the residence as one, and in that way the girl found herself the button of her. She came up to my right and was the first one to acknowledge me, albeit prefaced with a simple honorific I doubt she understood the meaning of. I looked down at what would have been cuter to continue describing as a cradle, but an object with the depth and dimensions closer to a gurney, carrying in it what looked to be a girl of similar stature and features as the one pushing. She smiled at me, a bit weak but sincere, and I shook her hand, soft and almost pudgy. To describe the girl in further detail, she lied across a sterile, white, and what must have been uncomfortable cushion. Her hair was a shoulder-length brown and her eyes likewise brown, but length remaining within and around sclera and pupil respectively. This combination might be contrasted from my lighter features and the little faux maid's darker, a succinct adherence to the rule of threes. What clothes one could identify beneath the blanket covering her were in warm colors of yellow, orange, and our familiar brown. Curiosity in remanence, I asked the two about the suitcases. Without giving time to answer, the sibling from before interrupted, or perhaps finally addressed my question, to describe a trip which would be visiting the beach of a neighboring country. My first thoughts upon hearing were a combination of what we might do when we get there, and who that we consisted of, presupposition that we included I shown through the order these thoughts occurred. I might emphasize now one more feature about our hazel-haired girl regarding the natal: corrosion. Corrosion not of the bed she lie upon, not of any hidden prosthetic beneath the blanket, but corrosion of the internal. That is to describe her birth as artificial, her parents the thousands of hands holding tools and working machines, her body synthetic, computer, in some but not in enough senses bioengineered. An existence miraculous, but in that miraculousness, susceptible to death, that susceptibility defining her confinement. Could not though an existence and set of fears as such be likened to anyone else, though? Is it that she lives more than for life's own sake, that there exists some motive which defines the path she should commit while alive, this narrowing her prospects? These thoughts were responded to in the manner expected. Despite that expectation, no further response came or was thought of other than ideas for more questions to ask, questions which would only cause problems for others, questions which would reveal and poke at an emotional sensitivity only those who were unable to corrode could feel. My legs had been strung over the side of the bed, the family cat began to rub against them. I jumped down to pick him up, small and black, his claws dug into my arm as he tried to find balance in his center of mass. Bringing him high enough for the other two to pet, he pressed his weight against them too and scratched each. Only one reaction was given. - Chapter 2 - A foretold parting came. Our two friends would be remaining with one another to keep company, those going remained less than half a dozen. As much as I wanted to say, I left it only at goodbye. The train ride would cross some three-odd days, and odd days they were in each of the three meanings. Cabins within which to sleep in, and cabins within which to eat in were provided. My freetime was spent looking out the window at the changing landscape, asking what questions I thought of, and at evergrowing times asking questions I knew the answer to just to find out what others knew or how they would phrase it. Desert and near mountains turned to desert and distant mountains. At intervals you could see walls of brick with images carved into them to imitate a flipbook, images of lizards and tortoises which seemed to crawl and meet your pace. From plains to prairie, rows and rows of windmills came into view. Where there were mountains, they towered such that any window you looked through required you press yourself close against it to identify it not to be a barrier stretching deep into space. Through hills with more plants and growth than I feel I have ever been surrounded by, the ocean ebbed and flowed in and from view. We traced along it from a watching distance, moving at periods close enough to appreciate its scent. Once the scene found itself relatively stagnant, I turned my interest towards the interior of the vessel. It was a simple vehicle without extensive haberdashery lining any of its walls. One could walk through narrow hallways - squeeze through them when someone else came from the way you were going - listen in on the conversations others were having through their thinly veiled walls when the rhythmic hum of the train's rails didn't overshadow it, and if you made endearing enough eyes for staff, get a chance to marvel at the systems which allowed such a thing to be possible. Just as exploration and the new began to find itself exhausted, the destination drew inwards. We made first stop beside a populated town, identifiably colder than the inside of the train and each place before, before traveling some distance towards where we would be staying along the shore. The building could be described from the side of the entrance as tall and rectangular, some dozen floors in height at least if we judge from how many rows of windows there are. Its color was in various shades of brown and white. Upon entering, the amount of stimuli overflowed such that it became difficult to take anything in particular in. The first room's ceiling stretched upward towards the roof as though a cross section had been cut out of the entire building, balconies going into each floor could be seen. In what was either an unconscious effort to systematize how I begin to appreciate the building, or a desire to run around after being cooped up so long, I ran through a hallway towards the other end. Kitchens, dining areas, janitor's closets, laundry rooms and the sort could be seen through doors and within more hallways on left and right. Eventually a natural light could be identified. With as much spatial awareness of the architecture as one can expect to get without trodding into the surrounding foliage or viewing from the eyes of a bird, we can understand the building to be shaped almost as though a chair sitting along the cliffside and facing the ocean. The yard on this side of the building might be described in that analogy as the armrests, staircase and layers can be seen in the center going downwards and moving closer to the ocean. - Chapter 3 - A few days had passed since we reached our destination. I had come to an appreciation not just of the building that we stayed in, but also of the surrounding town. For its walkability, for the smell and shade plants and the ocean gave off, for structures which inspired more in them than the ones at home. Well, was that last one just a newness for the sake of newness? Was it all a newness for the sake of newness? While I can acknowledge the subjectivity of the observation, I can also argue that some aspects of where one lives are downright better than others. I don't know how to explain the feeling that I had other than through the details of it. When you're walking along a pathway with trees so thick you'll never be able to wrap your arms around them, my God the pathways existing themselves with a real consistency, when your ears aren't being barraged by anything other than the sweet sounds of nature and reserved voices of humans enjoying themselves, an air that feels amazing to breathe in without hesitation, a night sky more visible and proving of... As much as the details could continue, my mind had already been set. Before our scheduled return, I would collect a small set of supplies and run away, following the coastline until I reached somewhere new. There wasn't exactly a goal in mind other than to indulge myself in this pleasure as long as I could, indulgence at the defiance of those responsible for me, indulgence to the point that it becomes the death of me, a death I chose, the epitome of a broad death. Would I ever see her again? Did this make any sense? Would it not be better I dedicate a life to bringing this sight, these smells and sounds to her, to losing myself in the internal world rather than the external world? What was my relationship with other people? What was my relationship with myself? Would things be like this forever? Could I put all of these scattered feelings into one place and find resolution from all of them there? The cliffs were high, and I was careful not to tread too closely to their edges. When waves crashed against them its deafening noise was as though all the rocks would give way. There were people here and there on the beaches below, though I was never sure how they had gotten down there and I didn't see any distinct pathway that didn't require hours of rerouting or coming from the ocean. It must have been a book or a conversation where I first learned that there existed suits one could put on which would allow Man to fly. As the wind picked up the further north I followed the coast, I thought if I came across a place that would teach me to fly I would do everything I could to do so. After nights of sleeping under stars that looked as though you might fall right into them, I found such a place. Working at the small wooden establishment were a man and a woman, both very tan, and in uniform that said everything about what they spent their time doing. When I came to them with the proposition, they expressed that it would cost some few hundred dollars to make it come true. Besides that, wasn't I too young to be doing this, where was my family? It was nothing a bit of lying couldn't fix, though I do wonder if they were just letting me get away with my explanation until they could find out enough about me to rat me out to anyone who might be looking for me. The girl took my measurements, put on and took off a few helmets of varying sizes until my hair was a mess and she had found one which seemed to fit. She lied me on my back and began clipping my toenails down to bleeding nubs, it felt like I was having them torn off and the way I was lying I couldn't see to tell the difference. She cited that punctures to wingsuits because of one's length of nails would be detrimental to lift. I took her at her word, not that I had any other option. We spent a few days doing simple training. This included making sure that my body was plenty stretched and my muscles strong enough to control itself as it flowed through the air. Between exercising and since leaving I kept a notebook where I jotted down things that came to mind. I described sights, made attempts to draw them, patterned what stars I could identify in the sky with my limited vision, and created small stories to entertain myself and explore some thoughts and ideas I had. Maybe it was a worthless thing in the end, hell if I know. Would it really solve any of the questions or problems that I felt I had? The day came when I was to take my first flight. I would first be descending from the cliffside and then landing in the ocean below. I was nervous, a part of me wondered if I would crash into some rocks and pierce my body. I wasn't sure. Maybe it didn't matter. What's the point of fear anyway? The instructor from before was clipping my nails again, I had gotten used to her doing it for me at this point because I wasn't trusted enough to do a good job myself. It was in this moment that a figure came through the door to the cabin. My legs, and then my body were pressed down and restrained to the ground by the other instructor. It was my family. There was nothing more I could do other than lie on the ground while receiving criticism for my actions. Worry that I might have died. The instructors told them everything that I had said until this point. My belongings were went through, all of my drawings and stories lay naked for everyone to see without any sensitivity given to them. I woke up.