Friday, September 2, 2011

134/365 -- Playlist Story -- inspired by "Soft Trees Break the Fall" from The Social Network soundtrack

As it approached, the eagle circled lazily, above, with warm curls of air filtering through it's feathers. It came, attracted to the towering column of dense gray smoke. Prairie sod was ripped up; a black flaming trail led to a white-painted tube, the ones from the sky. The scent of blood. Animal screams. The eagle circled lower, circumnavigating the column, careful to avoid it's sting. The tube spun around, circling it's nose. It pulled apart, all still spinning, it's contents of humans crawling inside, making loud noises, not all were alive.

The tube upended, stretched. Windows popped out. The humans fell towards the Earth, governed by gravity that did not hold the same attraction to the plane. The eagle turned in the opposite direction and bee-lined for a hill on the ridge, which was still crowned with a stand of trees. It watched.

The plane spun faster, boring a hole into the earth, spitting up sod, spitting out seats and carpeting and luggage and people.

A blinding light blazed for a nanosecond. The eagle's ears popped. The pressure of the wind, even to the ridge, blew the leaves from the branches. The eagle struggled against his own wings to regain his perch. Another tube screamed into the ground, landing on top of the first plane.

They spun together, stretching out into a messy spiral. The noses started to ball together at the center of the bore hole. They started to glow with heat. Another light and pop and wind. Another. The eagle fell, disoriented and dazed. He lay still on the grass and leaves beneath the tree that accommodated his perch. Another light. The air cracked with electricity. Another pop. A plane streamed downward, over the ridge. The eagle saw the shadow of it. Rivets popped out and peppered the ground around the eagle. The rivets bounced up again and gained momentum, rolling and jostling towards the bore hole.

The eagle righted himself as there were more lights and pops. He walked, wings stretched out with the tips grazing the grass, head low. The ground vibrated with infrasound. He ran away from the event. The ridge dropped off and the eagle stopped. A closer blast of pressure decided for him--he took flight off the ridge, and headed for sunlight not obscured by clouds of grinding metal.

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