“I found a plane’s black box once, lying there in the nowhere dust like a secret or a tooth. It was red, armoured, weighed as much as I did, as if it were some fallen star full of perverse gravity. A strange find, mottled with age-dust and shattered paint; the last surviving fragment of a machine that might have really been something once, but wouldn’t be again.”
A short story about a man who finds a fallen piece of plane. Published in Volume magazine. Read online here.