I dream of a distant future, taking the high road, the sky road, to reach it. With my seat-back and tray-table in their upright positions the clouds beckon. Long security line, you’re a distant memory in a rapidly fading city, you won’t catch me, they won’t catch me.
They wanted to keep me grounded, oh, you know they did. They pointed to my past and put bars in front of me. No future in the sky for me.
A plan, a saw, a new name, a new passport, soon a new city, I’ll be spreading my wings again.
Word count = 100