Lois Elaine Heckman
Terminal

He
eyed
stressful
visions of
the futuristic:
white air shafts intersected through
his sky, their lights, fans and supports aligned in ordered
synchronization. These boundaries shaped his labyrinth prison walls. It ruffled him.
He ruffled himself. He watched the spectacle of those
peculiar animals guiding
carts in anarchy,
their voices
often
loud,
shrill,
always
offensive
and imperative
as the stridulous wheels. Each day
they were different. Every day it was the same.
Confusion transformed into fear, as he concentrated on the undulating waves
below. A gong vibrated, and he took flight between
structures, finding a matching perch
in the similar
maze of the
nearest
twin
world.