RUNWAY
by K. Jeffery Petersen

The city expanded across the valley, a mottled collection of red, blue, grey, 
and brown roofs criss-crossed by long threads of black asphalt. Allistair looked 
out past the red rock and dry green shrubbery at that clump of urban-ness. The 
late-evening sun cast a pink glow across everything, and the light breeze 
sometimes pulled his hair in front of his eyes, obscuring his view.

He didn't care. He was waiting. "Come on, you motherfuckers," he said while 
looking back up the trail to the road. His hands rhythmically pulsed in and out, 
pumping the brakes of his mountain bike with a faint "bab-bap... bab-bap," that 
could barely be heard over the quiet sounds of the late afternoon.

A car engine gunned a ways down the road, and the pumping immediately stopped. A 
slow smile stole across Allistair's face as he pulled his baseball cap from off 
his front reflector and put it on, the bill facing the rear. He slipped on a 
pair of tinted riding goggles next, and pulled on the fingerless padded-leather 
gloves.

As a final touch, he lifted the earphones from his neck and slipped them on. The 
sounds of the cars - there were two distinctly different ones, now - were 
muffled, but close enough that he could hear them clearly.

"That's easily remedied."  One hand squeezed the foam rubber of the handlebar 
grip while the other rested on the CD player at his hip. Waiting, waiting, 
waiting.

A roar of internal combustion, and the two cars burst over the embankment 
between him and the road, Allistair gritted his teeth, pressed play, and slammed 
hard on the pedals.

His aluminum-frame bike leapt forward, and uncontrolled beast of his own power. 
The electric bagpipe strains of Hekiru Shiina's "Go Wake Up!" started blasting 
in his ears. He went deaf to all outside sounds, the two cars faded into 
nothingness.

"Oh! Crazy!" Hekiru began to sing. The ground bucked beneath Allistair 
attempting to throw him off. He stood slightly and flexed his knees into a 
suspension system. The going became a little easier.

He shut his eyes. Grabbing the advantage, a rock attempted to stop his progress. 
A bump and his front tire was airborne. His rear skittered around the obstacle 
and he had to shift his balance slightly.

"I want to try! I want to try!"

Faster and faster, the wind slid by his face, feeling like razors dragged 
against his skin. For brief seconds, everything stableized slightly, and he 
managed to take a whiff of the surrounding odors: clear and clean, 
uncontaminated by humanity.

Then, all of the sudden, everything stopped moving. He was floating in mid-air. 
Allistair opened his eyes.

"Go wake up! Go wake up!"

High above the houses on the outskirts of the city, he sailed through the air. 
He glanced down at the large yards of well-to-do families with their swimming 
pools and trampolines.

"This," he said, "This is how life should be." 

A turn of his head, and he saw the first of the two cars tip downward in a two-
thousand pound swan dive. Allistair grinned. "I'm the gingerbread man."

"Kishimete my dream..."