A 10-minute story that was my cunning method of evading the Ecology 2600 lab that I haven't written up yet. Enjoy.

This Quiet Dichotomy

Dex moves through the hanger with a perfect and peculiar sort of grace, every bit a man who has ideas and concepts sleeting through his brain like white fire. Every pause, every unhurried and animated conversation seems perfectly planned and scripted, like someone had drawn with clean black penstrokes Dex goes here, then here, then here. Like every part of his being is drawn inward, focussed down into something bright and hard as iron.

Not like Joe, where everything is as big as the world at twenty thousand feet above the cloud cover. Like the wild blue expanse open and naked under the sun, with every thought and feeling written with clouds and stars for everyone to see.

But really, a man who works a little world of gears and wheels and wires, inside his head and under his fingers, needs someone to occasionally remind him that the sky is bigger than the blueprints, and a nicer colour too.

And because a man with wings always needs someone to anchor him to earth, or he might point his nose at that horizon and never come back down.