Through the visor of subject

Story by Selim Milestone

Red light from the top of the control tower gleamed on his reflective protective uniform. Through protective visor, he’s monitoring the movement of motor facilities in which humans were rushing to their destinations. On the sidewalks, faces of walking entities, rain that drizzled, lured their grimaces in protest. To him, it was funny because, accustomed to faster moving; his body produces the mix of hormones that caused the feeling of happiness. At last light gave the signal for the departure of vehicles from the strip that he was located and launch bipedal facility that rushed through the junctions to the left bank of the avenue. Possess his lane, like every morning and rushed to a new city.

The temperature of his body reached the endpoint of filing while humans shrunk in their vehicles with internal combustion engines, their cold organisms looked forward to the warm airflow from the heater. Hangdog, biting filters inflamed dry sticks, their smoke blurred vehicle visor, not catch sight of him. He included the whole scene while breathing cold, clean, mixtures of oxygen, awakening his sleepy vitality.

Legs raced harder and faster to the next intersection. Dashed electric rail vehicle darted in front of him, thus creating a lot of noises. The chauffeur is yawning while humans, squeezing each other wait for their destinations. Silhouettes could be seen through the glass of vehicles blurred by a morning cough and mixtures gasses exhausted generously exchanged. The scene quickly disappeared from the viewfinder of the subject and the object moved away, towards the city center.

Mr Ride continued uninterrupted, with a breath of fresh mixture his eyes became moist from the same purity gas and covert satisfaction in a sense of freedom, at his feet last asphalted mile are flowed by the physical relocation of his body to his final destination.

He wondered to these beings and their conformist tendency to imitate. No, this morning their “I”, hung over from existence and their days without inspirations were given a copy of them. In this sense, they grew and die with emaciated bodies hoping to retirement. But freedom loomed just ahead of them. Freedom in movement, moving in freedom, independent entities, they still choose crowded utility moving objects, and the echo of the ancestors, who are trudged on the cold mineral surface of this planet, draped by the skin of wild animals, being one with the horizon, died in them. He laughed at his thoughts, turned to the backstreet, separated from the main strip and arrives at its final destination. Put off his vehicle which assuming its complete form. His bike this morning looked magical.