IMPULSE MAGAZINE: My Flight Was Magnificent, but Futile
Each venomous sentence booms over the speakers, reverberating through the gallery’s floorboards, making it hard not to fear the narrator, even as a team of excavators lay the bomb to rest. They give him a proper burial, per Vietnamese custom. As the team lowers the bomb into a shallow grave, he mutters, “Am I just a failure?” before contemplating what his karma may be and if there is hope for rebirth. Perhaps the rusted explosive has already met his karma: a sedentary life spent marinating in what one could have been. Gradually, he merges with the very rainforest he was destined to destroy. The anguish from his dream deferred festers like a sore, leaving him “a shadow of himself…”
