Thinking on the move - cherubic enchantment

An angel flutters by. The corner of your eyes register in a fleeting moment what an hour of visual dissection can never achieve. The mind shuttles between the woe in front and the bliss at your side. You count seconds and iterate through strategies in your head. Defences drop, quicker than a lifeless bird. Hurtling down at max speed, there's only one thing to do. A slow buzz ramps into a steady oscillation, and you employ muscular services even as the amplified drone of the slicing air hits overdrive. You crane your neck unsure of the following moments. A quick sampling of the desired vision and you shoot back into feigned attention at the worthless jargon you were already supposed to know. The feeling of weight returns to replace the void around, by a room full of people; snap! goes the silence and the denizens speak their tongue with the sounds of clattering keys that are getting jabbed at, with all the fury a hungry, sleepy student can muster. Misery reigns your realm for the next few minutes as thoughts of a never to occur future, vex your fruitless present. And then like the coming of knowledge, you realize that you're not alone in this quest for gold; your object of preoccupation is in truth, the cynosure of greedy eyes in this ignoble gathering. " What a fell world?" you muse - a result of the inability to grade yourself and your actions sans the added weight. The scope pans out to the whole room, moves slowly up the stairway, past the unwitting sentry all the way into the pleasant, starry night. The clock reads 20 minutes to midnight and a million to the dreamed-of life. Its a good time to leave confused readers to their abusive taunts thrown spitefully at your crisp narrative. Its the time to take a walk home. Fever Ray whispers soft songs into your ears that remind you of forests and trees and mountains and of long, green walks taken under a pristine, moonlit sky in glad company.