The World On Time

Before me was a large floor safe. One of those fancy types with the big chrome wheel, and the gold letters on the front. I found a map that had led me to it. As luck would have it, I also had the combination to open it.

The interior was so dark that no light could ever hope to love it. When I felt a warm wind coming from somewhere inside, I got down on my hands and knees and crawled forward into the black. It seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Presently, I arrived in a land covered by heavy fog. After a time, I discovered a long wooden pier extending out over a lake of calm.

At the end of the pier, loosely tethered with the kind of white cotton line normally reserved for hanging laundry in suburban back yards, was a FedEx jumbo jet bobbing gently in the water.

When I finally pried open the hatch and climbed in, I found the cargo bay full of people covered in sheets, sitting upright on old wooden chairs. Men, women, children, laid out like terracotta soldiers in gowns of crisp white linen, like something out of a Christo exhibit.

The only sounds were the creaking protests of a plane full of questions (her wings were full of water, her dying heart longing once more for the sky) and the playful applause of the lake as the curtain came down on an act most serious and somber.


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