Someone just woke me up. I don't why, or by who, or why I was put under, but suddenly, I'm in the cockpit of a fighter jet of some kind, and I'm in free fall. My instincts take over, and I somehow manage to curb the descent into a simple glide with a flick of a few switches. With the pressure relieved, I begin to figure out why my vehicle is off. I couldn't explain to you the little intricacies of a fighter jet's mechanics, but unlike my current method of transportation, I'm working in autopilot. Eventually I get it started.

As I'm gliding throught he skies, I can see the terrain beneath me. It's a mountain range, but there's lots of green and brown colours, indicating a losing battle for the vegetation. Houses litter the landscape, ranging from red, two-stories, to yellow bungalows. There are no paved roads, only dirt paths worn from years of migration. As I begin to piece together my situation -- where I am, what year it is, what I'm doing -- a persistent beeping begins from my heads up display. Looking behind me I see several similar looking aircrafts following in pursuit. For some reason, I know they're not friendly.

Again, my insticts take over. It's almost as if I'm watching someone else control my movements, just along for the ride. With a learned turn of the joystick, my plane barrels into a controlled downward spiral. 3 tail me, another two planes maintain their altitude to watch from a distance.

I don't know how I knew this, but my craft was simply better than theirs. It must have been a new model, vastly superior, because I could easily recycle the air between my wings, changing my direction and speed on a dime. Whereas they were mostly what you'd see in a WW2 battle scene. I pop on the breaks and fall behind the 3, easily taking them down with a few trigger pulls. It was a blur, and I don't remember the details. I just knew that I was impressed, as an outsider, watching. The other two leave after their comrades began plummeting in a group of fireballs towards the ground. I lower my altitude and hover 15 feet from the ground, moving 200 hundred kilometers an hour.

Eventually I stop and get out. It's an estate with a 3 story red building and a garage. Deserted. The windows are cracked and the doors are wide open. I manage to find a bag and with it with supplies. Whatever I can find, which isn't much. A pistol, a half empty bottle of water, a baseball cap. I get back in the jet, and continue on my way.

20 minutes later after looting several houses, something catches my eye: it's a billboard with someone I recognise on it. A girl, someone that meant a lot to me. I don't know how I knew that. But she's framed in the same way Marilyn Manson was in this, though she was wearing a white shirt. I completely stop the vehicle, and get out. Beside it, there's a small yellow bungalow lifted 10 feet off the ground, as though it was attempting to avoid a flood. Unlike most of the houses, the windows were barracaded and the door was closed. But I don't really pay attention to that. I hop out of the craft and stare at the billboard, trying to piece together what little I remember.

My mind goes blank again. Suddenly I'm in the same place I was before, but the door of the house is wide open, and the balcony is filled with a dozen worn-down looking people. An older gentlemen, no more than 55, stood behind the rest, mostly women and children. I'm being spoke to, but I tune it out, mostly paying attention to the people on the balcony. I eventually come to my senses and look to see who is speaking to me. It's the girl on the billboard. She's not wearing the shirt, but she's definitely the same person. My insides begin to pain, something I find strange. I couldn't even comprehend what she was saying to me. Or maybe I did, I just don't remember. Suddenly, a young man, a few years younger than me, perhaps, pulls the girl away from me. He stares meaningfully at her. It's evident that he cares quite a lot about her. He appears to be arguing with her, but I can't make out the words, or don't remember them. The pain continues to worsen.

Time skips again. I get back in my fighter jet, and as the glass cockpit cover closes, she looks up at me, and me down at her. The kid puts his arm around her, and they walk back into the home. The scene is over.

---

Tell me. What do you think of this. What does it mean to you.

Barry looked out the cold soulless glass of the flower shop window. Raining again. Water falling out of the sky like tears from an orphaned civilization.

"The ten million sheep keep grazing," Barry murmured to himself. "The slime and filth of New York all runs downhill." Benson & Associates didn't take off like Barry dreamed it would. The only clients he got were scumbag addicts who couldn't find their antenna if it was hanging in front of them.

The flower shop door opened, and a mosquito flew in. "Fucking bloodsuckers," Barry grumbled, lighting a cigarette. The flame burned like the embers of a forgotten time. Barry could hardly remember the last time he was happy; working for Honex and spending time with Adam and Vanessa. Adam was now the CEO of Honesco and fired half the bees to save money, and Vanessa hadn't been the same since she started drinking.

"Mr Benson, hello?" The mosquito buzzed around Barry. "Oh god, I need your help. PLEASE!"

Barry took another drag from his cigarette and rolled his eyes. "What is it, asshole?" He couldn't stand insect filth who wasted his time.

Time. Like the gears of a machine, turning in place, never reaching a conclusion, Barry's time never ended. He had prayed for death before, but no one answered. He used to believe in God, but now God was like a moat flowing through a windmill.

The mosquito put its face in its hands. "Oh god...the kids...Elaine...they're all dead."

"Let me guess, you got drunk and flew into a rage." The rain kept coming.

"What? God no, Barry. It was...it was a car accident. The SUV pulled out in front of me, I had no time to react!"

Barry scoffed. "Yeah right, punk. Let me guess, you were on the pipe again?"

"No Barry, I'm off that stuff! You've gotta believe m-"

Suddenly a giant bare foot came down in front of Barry, crushing the mosquito. Barry looked up and saw Vanessa smirk at him, sangria in her hand. Then she silently walked
away.

"What a bitch," Barry thought.

The rest of the day dragged on. Barry smoked cigarette after cigarette. He would've tried to steal some of Vanessa's liquor, but he knew the consequences if he was caught. He looked out the window again. The city was slowing down, falling asleep. Robots following their programming. Spurred on only by the promise of a divine reward.

"Cowards," Barry thought. He took another puff and coughed. The smoke had completely filled his tiny bee body. He doubled over in pain and fell to the hardwood floor. The floor was as cold as a drinking a glass of water after you chew a piece of mint gum.

Barry felt enormous pain as he started to succumb to tobacco poisoning. He saw Vanessa stumble into the room and make eye contact with him. She was holding a bottle of vodka now.

"Vanessa...kill me." Barry pleaded.

Vanessa just laughed at his plight and left the shop.

Barry couldn't take the pain anymore. He had to end it. He crawled over to the couch and took a deep breath before plunging his stinger into the fabric. The pounding rain coming from the sky started to subside into a light drizzle. As the stinger left his body, Barry sighed in relief. It would all bee over soon.

Danger Zone