Memoir: Twist in the Wind

journal entry, handwritten.

Are you okay? How are you doing? A step closer to Elysium every time it's asked, or I have to watch eyes splinter, mouth curdle, finding words to push the question back.

I'm fine. Eris laughs herself to tears.

Are we Deucalion and Pyrrha, or a mouse? Escape the trap. Survive the poison. Left as Ares' toy until our death throes no longer amuse.

No searching for Mount Parnassus — instead we double back, again and again. Atrocity tourists picking at radioactive scabs. A mouse with its leg chewed away, running everywhere in circles.

No information. Fly laps. Twist in the wind. Whatever our commanders know, they're not sharing. Take it up with the Flight Board. We are here to obey, not to be communicated with. I should have known. I should have known.

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