Ain’t my day

I am above cloud level, on the most incredibly unstable piece of junk plane ever; it’s is completely open, there’s nothing, no actual cabin or anything, and every seat on board is torn, twisted, burnt and otherwise completely destroyed and useless. Bent and twisted metal point in every direction from out of the floor. The wind howls around my ears, it’s cold, and we’re flying through snow. In front of me I can faintly see the lights from the cockpit; no door there separates it from the cabin.

This tune suddenly comes out of nowhere, filling the cabin with soft, orange light as it does.

I walk down the isle, between the seats. Here and there are passengers, sitting completely still, looking up at me as I pass. I start singing along on the tune, walking dramatically between the passengers like in some cheesy music video. I stretch my hands out to the sides, and one by one, the others start singing along as well. The plane lurches and sways, the wind howls around us, but we keep singing. Even though I can’t hear them, I know that the pilots are singing too.

I get a strange sensation: I feel as if I know for sure that although the world seems to be doing quite badly, it (the world) is only pretending to be in bad shape. As I think about this, I turn around, happily. The song goes on, we all sing along. I look at the passengers, whos heads rock from side to side in time with the tune. Then I look into the void behind us. The gigantic, wide open mouth and teeth of an even more gigantic ape is rapidly moving towards us, covering the entire sky. It is clearly about to swallow us.

I wake up.