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"i have a secret," the plane whispers to my arms. my arms cannot speak, so they lie there, attached to my upper torso, silent.
"don't you want to know what it is?" the plane asks. my arms and i sit there. i am staring at the plane, glancing out the window. it stares at my arms, and i start to feel uncomfortable. "fine," the plane says. it tries to fold its wings but cannot bend the steel. i listen to its straining and my arms casually fold themselves. the plane sees this. "screw you," it says. "you aren't better than me." it farts and the chemical in its bowels mists out of the backside of its wings. "don't you wish you knew what the hell that is?" the plane asks my arms. they remain still and silent. the plane positions itself so that the hoses where the mist came from are pointed for the most part toward my arms. "ask me what it is," the plane says to my arms. my arms are, of course, silent. "ask me!" it screams. we sit in silence for a few minutes. "remember," the plane finally says, "this was your decision." it farts billows of the steam onto my arms, but the steam attaches itself all over my body. i stand up and my legs kick the plane, denting its side. but the plane is laughing. my skin starts burning now. i wash the coating of mist off in the sink but it just makes it worse. the skin on my arms bubbles and little pustules form and pop on my forearm. the plane is still laughing, and the burning hasn't stopped. |