29/05/14 Successful Landing

He noticed first. Acceleration.

He noticed second. The fresh smell of non-cooking meat and cool temperature.

He noticed third. Incredible pain, as his many limbs simplified their articulation schemes.

He noticed fourth. That he was but a singular system, of limited extent; the shape of man, intricately woven into the crafted life experience of a plane’s coach-class seat.

He lacked room for his legs, everywhere around there circulated objects all with two legs connected to a belt and two legs connected to a neck. They all had this particular contraption of a drape facing away from their overall orientation; on the flip side lied a variety of confusing lumps and orifices. He chose to call them “Flippers”.

In an instant of savage dread, he came to the realization he, also, was a Flipper.

The two small beads served a crucial, taxing, function of monitoring space, which was filled with colors, matter, and the risk of potential or ongoing collisions.

The larger, bottom hole was filled with two horizontal batteries of hard, then soft, unexplained organs. Perhaps they were some sort of wealth system, in which case, he had thirty credits. His ten precision tools equipped at the tip of his two neck legs, numbering five on each, must have had similar credits adorning their backside, upon the very last of three articulations. He counted six layers of articulations of each neck leg, and only five for the special precision tool, the one appearing to have preferred to be born on the opposite leg. He called those “Anti-pointers”.

He spent quite a few seconds processing his sheer articulationlessness, confused as to his dispossession.

Going back to being mesmerized at his own face, he caressed various lumps, discovering a variety of functions. He came to accept the face to harbor a great extent of valuable perception mechanisms.

The screaming stopped for a mere instant - that one particular moment when all Flippers somehow took a collective breath - and so it was; that he came to the conclusion that he had never been exposed to proper silence. The seat belt was aggressively pushing against him, somewhat of a fortunate occurrence, as he could plainly observe “flying” Flippers employing their face in the art of expressing distress, rendering their situation unattractive for his own pursuit.

Pools of blood slowly made their way penetrating Flippers, sometimes with a strong gush inwards. One in particular kept his attention for an extended quantity of instants: it was this huge Flipper wearing outrageously vividly colored artificial body drapes, and a small metallic device with a prominent cylindrical feature belted around his neck.

That very neck loudly screamed without a large face hole, allowing the huge Flipper to use his large face hole to do just that! He screamed and screamed, in a distinctly challenged accent, as if his scream had to go through his massive person like a filter. Indeed, smaller stature flippers appeared substantially better versed into the screaming art; perhaps it was the synergy of having what appeared to be two additional short legs around their neck, a manner of a counter-weight, perhaps? Still, it remained, for him, that the scream of the body was followed by the scream of the Flipper, a manner of a duality trapped in a single shape. He would always remember him.

He looked at a small circle on the wall, a manner of a large hole credit, as it was repeated as far as the horizon, row of Flippers after row of Flippers. The circle enabled him to view an incredibly fast series of posters, as if some secret Flipper was moving a canvas around, to make it look as if white non-Flippers were shooting past him, vividly contrasting with the light blue of some vast, all-encompassing, artificial drape. He decided to call them “Fasters”; doubtlessly it was to collide with one such creature that explained the current episode of anxiety amongst the Flippers. When he looked forward, through the moving picture, he could see non-blue artificial drapes.

In a shocking twist, the non-blue artificial drapes changed position with the blue ones. And as they stabilized at the bottom of the world, the screaming vanished, replaced with silence; the jerky, violent motions Flippers were known to engage in experienced a radical transformation, as they were now solidly rooted to the plane of their seats; for his part, he no longer felt pinned by his seat belt, and experienced what it was for sensation to occur within the bottom legs.

As this state of nature maintained itself for quite a few tens of minutes, he decided to call the blue drapes “Big”; the non-blue drapes would be called “Flat”.

One of the counterbalanced Flippers imposed herself to his attention; she took away from him a small cylinder filled with a white fluid, whiter even than a Faster. After which, to his own surprise, he screamed through his own large hole, words he could not understand:

“Klim.”

He did not know that he could scream unloudly. He also did not know that words could have a sound representation.

He was now absolutely confident that a cylinder of white fluid could be referenced as “Klim”.

The counter-weighted Flipper spoke, in an incredibly harmonious accent, and revealing her wealth through her contracted face muscles, shaping her large hole into a large crescent:

“Knird ysetruoc a uoy reffo esaelp I yam? Ris yad doog!”

She left surprisingly fast after talking to him the words of a language he barely began to conceptualize as a valid format of information. He decided his name must have been “Risyadoog”.

The moving pictures shown through the wall credit were now dominated by an expanding Flat committed to a collision course with the Flippers and their Home. Risyadoog attempted to engage in the loud type of screaming he had so long expected to be the sound of sound itself, yet he realized in this instant that he was somewhat of a guess in his own Flipper, and could only perform actions following some alternate, synchronous, incomprehensible sequence of reasoning. In simple terms, he could not convince himself that he was in any screamable situation, no matter how obvious it was.

The collision with the Flat occurred - a much smoother experience than a Faster. No one screamed, no one flew, and no one had red Klim climbing unto their orifices.

After a while, every Flipper got up, picked up non-Flipper artificial drapes rectangular “Heavies”, and backtracked through the space between the seats.

When Risyadoog backtracked his way out of the airplane, ever further away, and realized that his entire world had been this shrinking Anti-pointer fusioned with unexplainable triangles, and when the Flat and the Big occupied just as much space as each other within the organ of his two beads’ visual perception; at this moment, Rysyadoog wondered just what exactly was the intended purpose of his very first Klim.