In Medias Res
Copyright 2011 Jack-a-Dreams Press
It was a little after midnight when the plane touched down in Phoenix Sky Harbor airport. Dylan was resisting the urge to fall back to sleep after being woken by the "fasten seatbelt" alarm. Just five more minutes… even if it was five more minutes while being jostled by the runway. He was quite sure he’d been in the middle of an important dream, not that he had any idea what the dream was, and in his half-sleeping logic it seemed obvious that the five more minutes would cause everything to make sense.
This could only occur to him when he was half-asleep because at any other time he would know that nothing makes sense, even on the good days.
Especially on the good days. The bad days are the ones that seem to make sense, lure you into a false sense of security, and then subtly stop making sense long before you actually notice. Days like that leave you walking on the ceiling without being entirely sure why walking on the ceiling is wrong.
But before Dylan could have a day of any variety, he had to disembark from the plane and step into the airport. Right.
His eyes were still fuzzy and a little gummy as he stood. A woman coming up the aisle bumped into him with her rolling suitcase, and the man behind her blinked at Dylan for a minute.