I drop through sheets of hazy cloud, exhilarated.
Part of me grows alarmed as I drift off-mark, but with a tweak of my fins I am on course again, happiness flowing through my circuits: reward.
Air surges by me. Do I surge through it?
I wasn’t built for semantics.
I cost considerably more than any of my antecedents. I am a scalpel to their crude club. Or am I surgeon to their caveman?
Irrelevant, I suppose. My time is brief.
I rush to meet destiny, joyous, pregnant with my lethal payload. I would sing, if I could.
Author bio: John Xero believes in the explosive power of words, and knows a small word count can carry a massive payload.
Orbital platform: xeroverse.com
Dive is part of 101 Fiction issue 11.