By Will McIntosh.
Read by Christopher Reynaga.
A paper airplane drifted high in the sky above the field. I nearly crashed my bicycle, straining to follow its path as it circled above the treetops at the far edge. It held the wind beautifully. Pausing, it hovered over the field just as a sea bird holds its position above crashing waves.
I slowed to a stop, feeling for the ground with one foot, afraid to take my eye off the craft lest I lose it in the clouds. Neck craned, eyes to the sky, I let the bicycle drop. I tracked the paper’s elegant flight, running this way and that like a boy as it slowly, slowly lost altitude.
As it made its final pass, it gained speed, careening across the field. I loped after it as it tumbled end-over-end and lay still.
I plucked it from the grass.
It was folded in a distinct design–squat and wide, with a hinged belly. It was covered in writing.
Rated PG. for surrealism appearing through several fractured narratives.