In this dream, like every dream he could remember, he flew alone through blue, cloudless skies. Skin bared to the comforting warmth of the mid-day sun, he wheeled low over lush tree tops. Their leaves, reaching hungrily for the sun, tickled his bare stomach, and he laughed out loud with childish delight.

He rose higher, the ground falling away with dizzying speed. Tracing gentle spirals through the air, he lost himself in the sheer joy of flying. He flew faster, now, wind whistling in his ears. Faster yet, and the whistling became a roaring freight train. His skin, already warmed by the sun, grew hot as the air grew teeth and tore at his body.

He couldn’t stop himself. A small part of him realized what was happening, but the speed was a like a drug, and he hungered for more. His lips charred and curled in a snarling rictus of pain. Blackened skin peeled away as the wind flayed him mercilessly.

He had time for one quick thought before the fiery wind consumed him completely:

There is nothing like flying.