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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Psychology · #1242351
A man on a plane and everything goes wrong.
A violent storm brews in the East and red blossoms shrink sullenly into the blowing grass. High above the flowers searching for shelter, an airplane hums effortlessly through the afternoon sky. Bill Smith squirms in seat 3C as he looks down upon the earth and tries to find a suitable spot for the jet to come crashing down onto. Next to him sits an elderly woman with a John Grisham novel in her hands and a pillow covered in her curly, gray hair nestled behind her head. Her loamy thigh has oozed over into Bill’s seat, caressing his skinny, trembling leg. He half brushes at it and half wedges himself closer and closer to his window, hoping she notices and repositions her enormous extremity. But she continues reading, unaware of the small man with a comb over desperately searching for comfort like a mouse caught in a mousetrap.
         “The captain would appreciate it if everyone would fasten their safety belts. We’ll be experiencing some minor turbulence,” the stewardess’ voice quavers over a concealed speaker.
         The plane shakes and Bill takes in a deep breath that falls like a bomb into the pit of his stomach, exploding his bowels into a million, sweaty pieces. He grips his churning gut and tries to settle the impending movement. This can’t be happening right now. Moving his arms in a full rotation, he positions his left side underneath the window, elbow on armrest, hand on chin and presses his pointer finger against his cheek, tensing up to hold in the expanding gas. The woman next to him glances over furtively and shifts her mushy thigh. His ears begin to ring and commotion behind him starts in. He hadn’t noticed anyone talking beforehand.
          Casting a wary eye towards other seats, he sees a young blonde woman sitting across the aisle. He had boarded the plane behind her, smelling her golden blonde hair and watching her curvaceous legs swim freely through the air. She shone like a star against the backdrop of the plane’s gray and blue plastic paneling, a star that blinded Bill to everything but her. Bill had stopped behind her as she lifted her arms into the air, reaching for the overhead compartment. Her t-shirt had lifted from above her hips and exposed her lower back. At the time, he couldn’t help but look at the smooth dimples cupping into her soft, tan skin above her tight, low-rise jeans. She had thrown her hair into the air trying to get it out of her eyes and it brushed heavily against the top of Bill’s head, casting his comb-over clear off his scalp. Even then she hadn’t noticed him.
         Now, sitting back in his chair and looking over at her, he drowns in an ocean of love and wanting. She can’t notice me now, though, not right now. The noise in the plane becomes louder, echoing laughter and chatter. A couple sitting in front of him laugh obnoxiously at a joke that only they would understand and find humorous. A baby shrieks from the back of the plane and Bill crinkles his cheeks to his closed eyes, trying to drown out the incessant whining.
         “It’s okay, honey,” echoes the comforting voice of a young mother.
         The plane dips down into the sky as the howling pitch of the wind picks up. Bill feels the small mouth of the baby opening up in consternation, shrieking to the gods for disturbing his rest against his mother’s chest. You’re closer to them now than you’ll ever be, kiddo. Two teenagers chitchat behind him, speaking over the volume of their hip-hop music and squeaking in their leather chaps like flame-broiled hamburgers. Bill’s stomach squeals even louder, begging for him to run to the bathroom and relieve himself as fast as possible. No, you can’t be doing this to me right now. Beads of sweat fall from the rim of his bald head and absorb into his furry brow. He looks over to her, he looks up to the sky and he looks out of his window. Please, not right now. The baby’s cries escalate. The teenagers won’t stop talking and they’re never going to end. They’ll spew and spew these ignorant words and she’ll still never notice me. His stomach fell into itself and made a disturbing gurgling sound. The plane drew deeper and deeper into the negative depths of the sky and the wind howled even louder.
         “I’m totally going to hit on that Carlson chick,” one of the teenagers explains.
         “That’s cool, I like the clothes that she wears,” the other retorts.
         Bill opens his bloodshot eyes, his ears begin to ring astoundingly and his hands shake uncontrollably. This plane is going to crash and she’ll never love me. He cups his hands over his ears and rattles his head. The woman sitting next to him looks over, puts down her John Grisham book and taps him on the shoulder.
         “Is there something wrong, sir? You’re ruining my flight experience,” she says as she peals her head off of the pillow, leaving behind mounds of gray, sticky hair. She looks to the front of the plane as if looking for an explanation from one of the flight attendants.
         “Everything is so confusing,” Bill tells her, standing up and climbing over her mountainous body, “I just need to gather myself”.  He moves into the aisle and shuffles back to the bathroom, looking around cautiously for any stewardess that might possibly realize he’s disregarding the safety belt instructions. One notices him, “Excuse me sir, you need to have your belt fastened, captain’s orders,” she explains as she starts trudging from her seat towards him down the aisle. Bill walks quickly, but so does the stewardess.
         The commotion becomes excruciatingly loud. People seem to be screaming at him like a losing boxer in a dogfight. They’re betting on me, but this plane is going to crash and they’ll never gain profit. Behind him, Bill hears the teenagers screaming through the depths of the plane, “SIT DOWN, YOU’RE RUINING OUR FLIGHT EXPERIENCE”. They’re never going to love anyone as much as I would love her. 
         Bill falls into the bathroom and throws the door closed behind him. He looks into the mirror and studies himself. As the stewardess pounds on the bathroom door screaming, “YOU’RE RUINING EVERYONE’S FLIGHT EXPERIENCE,” he truly sees himself. Over the sink in the midst of the pale light that shines from a plastic, rectangular box, he touches the face of a sad man with a weak comb over and bloodshot eyes. He looks deep into the man who is crying silently with tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He wipes at the mirror trying to rid the man of his sadness. The stewardess pounds harder and the wind howls even louder. Bill goes to sit down on the toilet, but realizes it’s too late. It’s too late, I’ve shit myself and this plane is going to crash. His face floods of all color. He exits the bathroom and faces the stewardess whose arms are folded and lips are pursed. “Can you please go back to your seat now, sir?” she asks patiently.
         The plane rocks and rolls as Bill saunters his way back to his seat. These poor suckers have no idea; this plane is going to crash. He walks down the aisle of opened eyes and opened mouths. The baby cries, but Bill looks over to it in contempt and immediately its sounds cut out. Everything is completely silent. Her hair, flowing blonde, tickles her shoulder as she turns around as much as possible to see the man that caused a considerable amount of hysteria. Open eyes, open mouths, and she notices me.
         He stares into her eyes and throws his arms down to his sides, gesturing in disdain as if he has known her for decades. Should I go to her or go back to my seat? He nears her, almost five feet away and she’s looking coldly into his weeping eyes. He holds out his arms into the air, reaching for her, feeling as if this is the moment he had been waiting for. A teenage foot, placed neatly in front of him, causes him to trip through the air. He tries to grab hold of something for stability, but only grabs hold of the woman’s blonde hair, taking out a fair amount as he falls to the ground. With direct force, he smashes into the aisle and everything he felt before shatters into pieces. Laying on the ground in fetal position, Bill holds onto the locket of hair with every ounce of energy left in his ratty body. Everyone stares and the angelic woman flies over him and runs to the bathroom, holding her head and sobbing hysterically. The winds stop howling and the blossoms start to dance in the sun. The plane lands without any problem at all.

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