Congratulations go to Rebecca Emin with her story!
“It simply will not do, I cannot sit anywhere but a window seat or I will get travel sick.”
This shrill noise is the last thing I need when I have a migraine.
“I insist that you do something,” the woman continues.
I roll my eyes behind my dark glasses, but even that movement hurts.
“Excuse me, I’ll swap with you, if it’s that important,” I say to the woman.
The flight attendant flashes me a grateful smile. The haughty-looking passenger swaps boarding cards with me, and looks at the attendant as if challenging her to mention the computer records. Finally, we are on our way.
I buy some overpriced water from a vending machine and take some painkillers. I sit in the departure lounge and close my eyes.
I am starting to feel the pain lessen when I hear that voice again. “How long will we have to wait?”
“Oh please shut up,” I whisper as I exhale.
I need a quiet room, darkness, and peace. The background conversations don’t bother me, and even the crackly flight announcements are okay in comparison to… Elizabeth Wilson, I read as I glace down at the boarding card in my hand. Seat 50 C.
A smile crosses my lips. Fifty has always been my lucky number, not that there had ever been any reason behind it; I simply like the sound of it.
I feel beads of sweat forming on the back of my neck. It’s a hot day and the air conditioning can’t cope with it.
By the time we are finally called onto the plane my head is pounding, nausea is swirling in the back of my throat and it takes all my effort to stand and walk to the doorway. I take my aisle seat, and as I spot Elizabeth Wilson fussing with her bag and making a drama of getting it into the overhead storage area, I quickly say “hello” to the attractive blonde to my left. If I was feeling healthy, I would have made more of an effort, but I shut my eyes and doze instead.
I sleep heavily. Miraculously, when I wake up, the painkillers and rest have cleared my head. The cool temperature of the cabin feels refreshing.
The blonde next to me smiles as I glance in her direction. “Hi, I’m Paula,” she says, offering me her hand. I take it and smile at her, hoping my just-woken look doesn’t put her off. But three hours later when the flight is coming in to land, she gives me her card, and I slip it into my jacket pocket as we continue to talk.
I say, “Goodbye,” to Paula, and walk off the plane. I spot Elizabeth Wilson ahead of me. I hear her piercing voice again. “I wish to lodge a complaint, that flight was dreadful,” she proclaims.
I glance at her. I spot a patch of something unidentifiable on her sleeve, and as I walk past, hear her ranting about the toddler she had been sitting next to on the flight.
I smile as I pat my jacket pocket and walk on by.
An email whizzing its was to you regarding your prize, congratulations!