KAT
Above the Clouds
The cabin pressure makes my ears pop for the third time in twenty minutes, sensation that feels like my skull might crack open from inside out. Seven miles up according to the display Erik showed us before takeoff, which means seven miles of empty air between our metal tube and solid ground that might as well be seven thousand for how impossible returning to it seems right now.
My fingers dig into the leather armrest hard enough that enhanced strength leaves permanent indentations, silver mark pulsing with each breath I force through lungs that keep forgetting how to function properly. Through the window—because I can't stop looking despite how it makes my stomach revolt—clouds stretch to infinity in shades of white and gray that shouldn't exist in nature.
Breathe.
