dadevvtsvre
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Had to write a story in Writer's Craft on a topic of our choice. I originally intended to write a story about a man boarding a plane to visit his girlfriend on the other side of the Atlantic, except he's deathly afraid of flying. It then changed itself into a terrorist boarding a plane with the intention of blowing it up, and the inner conflict he struggles with at the airport. But I realized quickly that was really dumb. Then the story became... whatever this is.
The 'plot' is a guy boarding a plane at an airport, and his observations of the world and people around him. My writing teacher always restricts things to two pages so it's a little shorter than I'd like it to be, but vOv
Tell me what you think. The message is left deliberately vague and amibiguous so you can pick out whatever theme you want! Isn't that fun??
The 'plot' is a guy boarding a plane at an airport, and his observations of the world and people around him. My writing teacher always restricts things to two pages so it's a little shorter than I'd like it to be, but vOv
Tell me what you think. The message is left deliberately vague and amibiguous so you can pick out whatever theme you want! Isn't that fun??
I watched the sun rise today, watched as the icy grip of night faded into the brilliant dawn of day. I watched as the sun rose high into the sky, every moment of its glorious ascent igniting our world. And now, I watch in awe as the sun’s rays pierce hundreds of panes of glass, illuminating the terminal where I sit. Every inch is lit up in an incredible display of power, every body and object a speck on the solar canvas. It is afternoon at the airport, and I am preparing to board my flight.
To my right, a man, his stern face accentuated by a bold black beard, sits beside his wife. They are clad in simple clothing, dulled by years of exposure and service, and I find they reek of cigarettes. Their two sons, with hair that mimics their father’s, poke and prod one another, intentionally provoking a reaction. Their father gives them the occasional glare but never says a word. His wife is likewise silent, her forcible brown eyes motionless.
To my left, a woman, dressed in a neatly pressed suit and wearing a pungent perfume, types on her cell phone. I’m fascinated by the quick, deliberate movements of her fingers, her focus intent on the tiny screen. She is completely oblivious to her surroundings, and has not looked up once in the time I’ve been here.
In front of me, an elderly man wearing horn-rimmed and tweed jacket brushes away a loose strand of silver hair from an adjacent woman’s forehead. The woman, his wife, smiles in her flower-adorned blouse, and she gently embraces his hand. Her bones are plagued by arthritis, but she endures the pain. She closes her eyes.
I look down and begin fiddling with the handle on my suitcase. Sweat drips from my brow; I wipe it away hastily with a handkerchief. My limbs are stiff, but my mind is alert. I can feel the stares of onlookers burn a hole into the back of my skull. I strain to breathe. It is too much for me to bear.
A voice rings out over the loudspeakers. It is the voice of a stewardess, and she speaks with precision and grace. We’re allowed to start boarding the plane, she says. Our flight has arrived, and it is time for us to go.
The family on my right are among the first to go, with the husband taking the lead and his wife reluctantly following. When their children notice their parents leaving they hurry to meet them; they know better than to disobey their father. One at a time, they pass through the tunnel, and embark on their flight.
Next, the woman on my left finally manages to divert attention away from her phone. For a brief few moments, she seems dazed. But she is adept to adjusting to the world outside her technology, having made the transition countless times before. She carelessly tosses her phone into her purse, which lies on the ground in a heap. She then snatches the purse’s handles, and confidently makes her way to the threshold.
The couple in front of me are among the last to get up. A lifetime of waiting and anticipation has conditioned them; their patience is easily admired. They have waited years to come to this point, long years full of agony, pain, and heartbreak. But they’re finally here, and they’re in no rush.
I know I don’t have much time. The stewardess eyes me from in front of the tunnel, beckoning me with dainty movements of her hand. I hesitate. I know that once I step onto that plane, I cannot return. Whatever fate I encounter is no longer in my hands. Do I take the risk? Do I relinquish the responsibility of my destiny to strangers? Am I truly prepared?
The stewardess grins at me as I approach the tunnel that connects to the plane. My hands shaking, I reach into my pocket and take out my ticket. The stewardess takes it from me, the soft, delicate skin of her hand momentarily brushing my wrist. She tears off a stub and hands it back to me, and for the first time that day, I manage to smile. As I pass the point of no return, I hear the voice of the stewardess for the last time.
“Welcome aboard.”
To my right, a man, his stern face accentuated by a bold black beard, sits beside his wife. They are clad in simple clothing, dulled by years of exposure and service, and I find they reek of cigarettes. Their two sons, with hair that mimics their father’s, poke and prod one another, intentionally provoking a reaction. Their father gives them the occasional glare but never says a word. His wife is likewise silent, her forcible brown eyes motionless.
To my left, a woman, dressed in a neatly pressed suit and wearing a pungent perfume, types on her cell phone. I’m fascinated by the quick, deliberate movements of her fingers, her focus intent on the tiny screen. She is completely oblivious to her surroundings, and has not looked up once in the time I’ve been here.
In front of me, an elderly man wearing horn-rimmed and tweed jacket brushes away a loose strand of silver hair from an adjacent woman’s forehead. The woman, his wife, smiles in her flower-adorned blouse, and she gently embraces his hand. Her bones are plagued by arthritis, but she endures the pain. She closes her eyes.
I look down and begin fiddling with the handle on my suitcase. Sweat drips from my brow; I wipe it away hastily with a handkerchief. My limbs are stiff, but my mind is alert. I can feel the stares of onlookers burn a hole into the back of my skull. I strain to breathe. It is too much for me to bear.
A voice rings out over the loudspeakers. It is the voice of a stewardess, and she speaks with precision and grace. We’re allowed to start boarding the plane, she says. Our flight has arrived, and it is time for us to go.
The family on my right are among the first to go, with the husband taking the lead and his wife reluctantly following. When their children notice their parents leaving they hurry to meet them; they know better than to disobey their father. One at a time, they pass through the tunnel, and embark on their flight.
Next, the woman on my left finally manages to divert attention away from her phone. For a brief few moments, she seems dazed. But she is adept to adjusting to the world outside her technology, having made the transition countless times before. She carelessly tosses her phone into her purse, which lies on the ground in a heap. She then snatches the purse’s handles, and confidently makes her way to the threshold.
The couple in front of me are among the last to get up. A lifetime of waiting and anticipation has conditioned them; their patience is easily admired. They have waited years to come to this point, long years full of agony, pain, and heartbreak. But they’re finally here, and they’re in no rush.
I know I don’t have much time. The stewardess eyes me from in front of the tunnel, beckoning me with dainty movements of her hand. I hesitate. I know that once I step onto that plane, I cannot return. Whatever fate I encounter is no longer in my hands. Do I take the risk? Do I relinquish the responsibility of my destiny to strangers? Am I truly prepared?
The stewardess grins at me as I approach the tunnel that connects to the plane. My hands shaking, I reach into my pocket and take out my ticket. The stewardess takes it from me, the soft, delicate skin of her hand momentarily brushing my wrist. She tears off a stub and hands it back to me, and for the first time that day, I manage to smile. As I pass the point of no return, I hear the voice of the stewardess for the last time.
“Welcome aboard.”