I am Flash Gordon, as I zoom down the sidewalk. The trees are not trees, but spinning, spiral galaxies, their leaves are not leaves, but stars. My rocketship’s wheels grind over concrete, skip over the curb to asphalt. Ming the Merciless’s fleet is hot on my tail.
At the top of the hill, I look out into the void. The slope is daunting; I have crashed and burned here before, skinning my knees and elbows. I hesitate.
They are close behind me now, whooping, hollering taunts and jeers. I breathe deep, lean forward and push off. It feels like flying.
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