James had lived along the perimeter his whole life. As a child he would climb up into the attic, using the slightly rickety pull down ladder, to gaze through the small skylight window, in order to snatch a better view of the terminal building. An arched glass structure that seemed to cut the sky like the blade of the scythe his father kept in a special locked trunk in the garden shed. The panes of glass of the terminal building would catch the sun, sending beams of light like lasers shooting across the no mans land that separated the terminal building from James’s suburban semi as though they had been aimed directly into the small attic. Some times the flashes of light would appear to have some sort of meaning, a regular pulse then a gap, another flash, then a long wait followed by an intense beam. James felt that these patterns of light were forming an undecipherable message, one that was beckoning to him over the fence that ran further than he had walked to both the east and west.
As James sat looking through the fence, coiled wire, car parks and long track of shimmering grey runway that marked the perimeter, he would sometimes dream of being one of the dark suit clad figures he occasionally glimpsed boarding the aircraft. It had been fifteen years now since the Green Party had taken power, two years before James was born, and the emergency powers restricting all long distance travel for all but the wealthy and the political elite had been imposed
…………………… TO BE CONTINUED………………MAYBE………………...rupture.