flying hogs

i wasn't joking.

i did see the pig fly in the sky.

then another.

it wasn't a lie..

he gasped for breath as his groggy eyes slipped in and out of focus. He shook his head in an addle, tilting slowly side to side involuntarily, his feet barely on the ground, tip toed, and he stared out curiously at his best. There she goes! he gushed as if he was a little boy and he blushed and looked dreamily into the night sky as a plane lifted off into the deep darkness. he felt moist on his cheeks and then realised tears were tracking down his face uncontrollably. he knew he lost something, but couldn't put a finger into it.

she was gone.

empty bottles laid on the grass before the fence that separated him and the humongous flying machines and the stench of vomit was arresting to the passer-bys obliging some to pinch their noses and make funny expressions of disgust. he thought he would care, but nahhhh. they can burn in hell. he sniggered at that thought, innocent people walking past him being thrown, for godforsaken reasons, into the depths of burning cores simply because he wanted them to and how god, if any, was savvy enough not to oblige everyone with everything they want and not what they need.

amnesia found a friend and he couldn't remember whether he asked her to stay or he asked her to go or who she was. he just knew that he lost a part of him when that plane left the runway precisely at 10pm and she was never coming back. she turned her back and he could only see the shadow through blurry teary eyes, perhaps in remorse, in angst, in hapless, maybe even happiness.