Flight Operations Suspended
"It's right there," Envy said, looking out at the memory of an airfield.
Planes were spread about before him on what once might have been a parking ramp. The pavement was submerged below the marsh that had moved in when nature had decided humanity's footprint was no longer welcome. The parked aircraft pitched in various directions as they were slowly drawn under, their wings raising to hail a life guard that was no longer on duty. Those same limbs became the markers of their final resting place, and soon, there would be no trace that they were ever here at all.
Envy was staring at the single helicopter in the center of it all. Its nose was pitched up like it was actively trying to climb higher. But it was a lie. Its tail was submerged behind it. It was a gravestone too.
An old flight helmet hung from a hook inside its windshield. A relic. Something from the time before. He couldn't do anything for the machines, but maybe...maybe he could save that one thing. If not, soon, there would be no record of their past.
A series of tiny islands stretched all the way to the helicopter. They were something like asphalt lilipads. He tested the first, and it held him well enough. So, it was fair to assume they would all accommodate his passage.
Envy had stared at that helmet daily, and it wasn't getting any closer. I could just walk out there and get--
The wind gusted, the turbines in several raised wings beginning to turn as if they were trying to wake up, the sound stoking a memory of playing cards clicking through the passage of bicycle spokes.
...Murderered, Envy thought, palming his face and pushing his black bangs out of his eyes. Apparently.
He looked over his shoulder to find the sun sinking towards the horizon. "Maybe, I'll go tomorrow." After some consideration, he nodded. Which is definitely not what I said yesterday... Or the day before that.
He shrugged and oriented on a two-story hanger that was only partially submerged on one end. It loomed over the deceased planes, defiant, a bulwark against fate. It was his hope's last line of defense. It refused to die, but if it ever did, he feared that he would be lost with it.
Fortunately, the two of them shared a thing, and it's why he had chosen to haunt its halls to begin with. Every day that the old building was faced with the prospect of moving on, it always seemed to answer in the same way.
'Tomorrow. Maybe, I'll go tomorrow.'
Constraints:
Trope - Derelict Graveyard
Genre - Slipstream
