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Airshipping Is MagicThe morning air was crisp and cool with barely a breeze blowing. The sky was crystal blue, and the rays of the sun played lazily across the green countryside. It was the perfect day, thought Twilight Blimple, for a flight.
The little purple sparkly blimp slowly rose into the air, enjoying the wind as it played across her surface. Her propellers spun into life as she turned in a westerly direction, the fluted spire that jutted out from her control deck pointing the way.
Twilight wasn't a big blimp. Her gasbag was large but stubby, her fins small and protruding, and her purple gondola cabin was slung almost apologetically underneath. Growing up as a little balloon in the big city she had always been jealous of the other airships, who always seemed to be more graceful than she. But soon study had paid off.
Today, she was on an important mission. Today she had to ferry vital medical aid across Airquestria. A hailstorm had hit the town of Hull, and puncture repair kits were urgently needed.
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
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