There must be some kind of way out of here...

The stripes on the runway flick by. In another life, I'd be looking out the window, ticking them off as I remembered the training I'd written myself. "...V1...V2...Decision...Crossover..." Instead, they're just blips on the corner of my vision as my eyes instinctively track the horde amassing at the chainlink fence. Even as the wheels leave the ground, I can't turn away. It's only after the plane banks to the left, turning as it climbs to find the correct airway, that I allow myself the luxury… Continue