First, World. Problem

So I follow a long, tightly packed line of people through narrow hallways. Bulkheads protrude over our shoulders, packed with the last few possessions we were permitted to carry with us.

I grow concerned as I see the people in front of me pushed down and contorted to fit into regular, vaguely geometrical, slightly padded, tiny, tiny seats.

Then I’m pushed into a row of these seats myself. They were clearly made for another race of beings, something so much smaller than me. What happened to those beings? I’ve never even read about them or seen some speculative TV show about them. I’m saddened by the knowledge that this recent species must have been completely exterminated. Did these seats have something to do with that?

I get pushed up against the wall, strapped in with my head only inches from the unforgiving seat in front of me.

How long will I have to be here?

Instructions are shouted at us from a loudspeaker. I can’t understand them. My seat is vibrating and there’s a low hum from below me and to the side of me. Did they just tell us what we did wrong? Did they offer some hope?

Oh, please just repeat yourself – those might be the last words anyone ever speaks to me!

The seat in front of me is smashed back and into my head. I pull back as far as I can, freeing up an inch of space between my nose and the back of the seat. It bounces a little, teasing me with an occasional extra half inch of freedom. Then it adjusts and freezes into position… as far as I know, forever.

My right shoulder is plastered against the wall. It is unmoving. There is a small window carved into it, the view completely obscured by some ancient, whirring piece of machinery.

My seat begins to vibrate more violently; a thundering noise occupies the entire room. I can find no solace. I briefly pray for a painless death. Then I worry if painless is less meaningful.

I have an existential epiphany… no, it’s just a pathetic plea for greater understanding… I’m not being killed, but nothing is changing.

Does anyone on the outside even know what is going on in here? Perhaps the outside world doesn’t exist anymore. It did, right? I mean, outside of my perception?

Radiation is shot at me through the wall. Head gear is folded over my ears and music is blasted through them but most of what I hear is static. It’s uncomfortable, surprising, painful.

I’m cemented into that same exact position for hours. There is no food, there is no bathroom break. When exhaustion finally fills me, I try to lean forward into the inch of air so I can hang my head and sleep, but there’s not enough room.

Time blurs, memories distort movement…

Finally the flight lands. Amazement and anxiety. I try to stand. I grab for everything that might help support me. I stagger back to the aisle that I had earlier followed so dutifully. In time, I make it to the outside. I receive no offer of sympathy or counsel.

What did they get out of that? No one even asked me any questions.