This was me just playing around with first person (for some practice). All critiques and opinions are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!
Above the Clouds
|This is a story about terrorism. It is purely fictional, of course, but please do not read it if you are easily offended.
The man dips a hand into his pocket and removes the bomb. He holds it up, inspecting it with dark eyes. With his lips, he touches the cool metal and secures it in the briefcase.
” he whispers.
Her blonde hair sways as she rushes past, guiding a trolley of refreshments towards the next passenger. I swig down the last of my gin, the ice clattering against the glass.
My seat tilts backwards as I recline. I push the button on the arm rest.
“I’ll be right with you, sir.” She says.
Ahh… business class.
“Good morning,” a voice says, “I am Captain Pauler, and I will be your pilot for today. We will be taking off in approximately four minutes, so please stay seated. Thank you.”
It has been three months since I’ve seen my family, so I can’t complain that I’m coming home. And anyway, we’re leaving behind a gloomy morning in Lisbon. Baggage handlers dart about, dumping suitcases into the hold. For once the sun is nowhere to be seen, and patches of grey and black are stitched into the sky above.
The hills in the distance are usually a fantastic green, but today they are lifeless; nothing more than streaks of grey on a dark canvas. Even the grass beside the runway has a slight tint of grey to it.
The plane accelerates - putting me back in my seat.
Seatbelt lights glow a dim blue which matches the colour of the carpet. An excited chatter fills the cabin. Kids are laughing, jumping up and down. A man in the row next to me is reading a newspaper and sipping coffee. The woman in front is listening to her headphones.
I’m sitting bolt upright, gripping on to my arm rests. I peer out of the window, only to see the world tipping up at a steep angle.
“Is there a problem, sir?” The hostess says, walking over to me.
“No. Everything’s fine; just another gin please.”
“Of course.” She bends down.
And I must admit - suddenly, I was enjoying the flight.
Two hours later. Something’s wrong.
The crew are huddled in a group, their eyes filled with suspicion.
“…or maybe not…” The hostess says, trying to keep her voice low.
The other hostess bites her nails. A man is wiping his forehead with a cloth.
“…would be a good idea.” He says.
They disappear into the cockpit.
“This is your captain speaking. I’m afraid we have a slight problem. It is necessary that our crew check all luggage onboard the flight for safety reasons. Please cooperate - thank you.”
I sit back. What’s going on? Has someone smuggled a mouse on board?
The crew emerge from the cockpit with stern looks on their faces. The blonde one rushes over to the first passenger in my row and starts sifting through luggage. A redheaded man grumbles as he is awakened.
I sigh and raise my glass to get the last drop of gin. Only half an hour left, and then we’ll be landing in London.
My family will be waiting there as usual. I can’t wait to see the smile on their faces when I hand them the gifts; a remote controlled car for Simon and a portable beauty salon for Shirley.
The hostess yawns as she walks over to me. Everybody else has had their baggage checked.
“Sure,” I say, reaching below my seat to fish out my briefcase.
“Thanks.” She takes it and props it upon the table, opening it up.
Her face distorts in panic. She shoots an accusing glance at me.
She looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Help!” She yelps.
“What?” I look up, startled.
The crew charge over.
Metal. Handcuffs seize my wrists.
“Let go!” I say, frowning. “What the hell
is going on?”
The hostess jumps back, and a man barges through.
He peers into the briefcase, getting a good look for himself.
“What the-” I say.
He swivels the briefcase towards me.
I blink hard, refusing to believe what my eyes are seeing.
There is a bomb in my briefcase.