Member-only story
Prose
As Plane as Day
A short story
A plane stood almost totally encased in shadow. The flickering of orange lights danced upon the cold shell of the seemingly dead aircraft like it was ablaze. I stood on the tarmac in awe. I started to tremble, a volatile mixture of swelling anxiety and the encroaching numbness from the pouring rain that struck like ice through the biting wind. Not a soul was to be seen yet I had this weird sensation that, somewhere behind me, a thousand eyes were watching. I allowed them a few moments more before picking my luggage — a chipped cabin case and a rucksack nigh on bursting — and headed towards the dormant beast.
I clambered up the creaking stairs into the dark cabin and was met by possibly the most miserable man I had ever seen. The smile he flashed my way seemed rehearsed, drawn on with a shaky hand. He wore the trappings of a man long since defeated. Even the name-tag hung askew on his unironed shirt looked as if it was about to wither away. He gestured half-heartedly down the aisle. Every action seemed to be devoid of any discernible energy.
I stumbled to my seat and immediately searched for the small, tattered envelope tucked neatly in my breast pocket. I drew it carefully from my breast, as if it were about to crumble into dust. As I began to lift the flap, the edges of the envelope finally split, spilling…
