Fight, Flight, Fawn

Something about the groveling noises an aircraft makes before takeoff reminds me of the agonized cries of loneliest whales in the world. Airplanes are truly a fascinating piece of machinery. The sheer magnitude of their bodies is enough to startle. Regardless of the small flights and private jets in the market today, the flight’s identity itself is endearing. We flew for the first time 9 days after a renowned magazine said we wouldn’t fly for a million years. We create our own fools (The writer, or the brothers?). We create our own Gods. We play our own Gods when we really feel like it too. We make limits and boundaries only to defy, defeat, and overpower. Aeroplanes inherently reflect the true nature of human. Getting on a plane is nothing but the chance to play God for several minutes. Rise thousands of feet and have a mortal’s perspective taken away. Swim among the same clouds your mother promised where the deities thrived. To view the rest of the world with the same dismissive arrogance of a ruler. We can never truly escape mortality though, can we? The emergency exit I leaned on to gain a moment’s of shuteye burrows in the back of my head. Something can always go wrong. Murphy’s law. We’re trespassing the heavens, did we really expect not a touch of misfortune? What purpose has this human mind evolved other than to defy? We return god’s eyes the moment the craft’s wheels hit the ground. A borrowing, a debt, a taste of divinity. Unknown price. There will come another time to play god, I wonder if it will be an aircraft yet again? After all, how could someone about to play god fear one, let alone pray to one?