Flight

I had entered a shopping mall of some sort. In one of the stores, I realised that I could fly, so I clambered onto a tall shelf facing the entrance. The glass doors opened; a customer walked in; I took off, heading right for the customer, who shrieked and ducked to avoid me.

I went straight through the open glass door, banked left, flew along the corridor over the heads of the panicky customers and entered an open space where the walls formed an atrium of sorts, open to the sky. No glass dome on top, as far as I was aware. So I flew straight up, nothing but plain brick walls around me, until I reached the top. At the top, the uppermost tier of stores. Gardens, restaurants, an open air amphitheatre. Overhead, blue skies and fluffy clouds. It was as if the atrium was the eye of a mall-shaped hurricane; and the brickwork was the eye wall.

And so I finally came to rest, sitting on the lip of this atrium, my legs hanging over the precipice, enjoying the view.