Non Sci-fi Short Story

[The Aliens]

Contrived bit of rubbish I hacked out last night in 45 minutes. Hurray for metaphor, I suppose, but it gets a bit silly near the end. Suggestions and reviews are welcome and encouraged.

The Airport

Marc Rowley

September 6, 2004

Morass. To the young woman entering the departure terminal of the large airport, that one word accurately described the setting around her. Piles and piles of baggage lumbered around on slow carts, their engines whining in protest. Travelers- all of which bore the same expression, a steely determined look, stood around waiting for the lorries and carts to pass by the entrance way, to allow them access. The sounds of vendors could be heard nearby- the ones she could see farther away were muted by the grimy snow that formed dunes along the paths near walls and in stairwells. The announcements, as incomprehensible as ever, crackled and fizzed over the old intercom… something about a flight arriving earlier than expected.

Relieved to be off the bus that had brought her here, she stepped into the warm air of the terminal, beating off the cold from outside. She shed her thick jacket and slung it over the small suitcase she dragged behind her- no use in having excess baggage for her trip. She cut through the crowds, who were alternating between harassing each other and the check-in clerks, and sidled up to the desk for her airline.

“Hello, how can I help you,” asked the smiling face behind the desk. It was robbed of all its humanity by thick layers of foundation, to the point at which nothing apart form her mouth moved when she spoke.

“I’m here to check in for Flight 153,” she said, somewhat hesitantly. It was one of the first times she had flown alone without the comforting hand of a parent near to guide her, and so she was slightly unsure of the procedure.

The face stared at her resolutely, and without changing its smiling expression, it started speaking. “Your flight has been cancelled. Can we interest you in another destination?”

Cancelled? How can this be? I’ve planned and waited for this trip for months. It was supposed to happen like I planned it- not this, this ridiculous face telling me I can’t go where I want to! “Cancelled due to what,” she asked, carefully keeping her tone neutral and not showing any of the panic she felt.

“Your flight has been cancelled. Can we interest you in an other destination?”

"Why was it cancelled? I’ve come all this way, you have to tell me why I can’t go further!”

“There has been an error.”

“What kind of error? You are responsible for this, and I demand to know why!” Her control was slipping, she could soon tell that she would be unable to hold up her polite veneer for long.

“We do not accept responsibility for any delays or cancellations. Can we interest you in another destination?” The face continued smiling resolutely, there was no change in vocal tone or pitch- nothing to show it was affected by this monumental announcement.

“This is too important for you to blow of with no reason!”

“There are other flights to other destinations. Your flight has been cancelled. We accept no responsibility for any delays or cancellations. Other passengers require my assistance. Please select a new destination.”

“I don’t want another destination! I already picked one, one that suited me perfectly! I won’t change it!” Other passengers seemed to stare through her, despite the scene she was causing. They weren’t interested in the drama unfolding in front of them, only in getting through the line. They were concerned about themselves, and were trying to push the young woman out of the way.

“Please select a destination. Your flight has been cancelled.” The face looked past her, to a young man approaching on the young woman’s left. “How may I assist you,” it said to the newcomer, and the woman slinked off to the side. She was defeated. She pulled the small piece of baggage behind her, and off to a small store selling newspapers and a variety of sweets. She collapsed to the ground, and sat staring at the pattern on the floor.

How can they cancel my flight? Why won’t they tell me why? I know what’s best for me, since I picked this destination. They don’t understand! I have to look out for myself, and they’re only interested in forcing me to be somewhere I don’t want to be! “They don’t understand!” She voiced this thought, loudly, and a few faces flicked towards her, before quickly looking back to where they were going. The sound of the disturbance, like the ripple of a rock dropped in a pond, echoed and faded as suddenly as it had begun.

She heard music, a guitar, eminating from an alcove in the wall a few metres away from her- she edged past the shop and an open café area where no-one sat to see an old man playing. He had a hat in front of him, with nothing in it, and he didn’t seem to mind. He saw her come over, stopped playing, and stood the instrument up beside him. He didn’t move from the sitting position, cross-legged, and motioned for her to do the same. She rested the bag on the wall, and sat.

“Who doesn’t understand,” he asked, as soon as she had seated herself.

She was taken aback, but he had obviously heard, like everyone else, her pronouncement. What threw her, is that he remembered, and asked. “Them.”

“Them?” he asked. “That can cover a lot of people. Who?”

“Airport administration. That sodding flight attendant. My parents, who didn’t tell me what to do if this came up. Everyone around here for not telling me what I should do.” She looked sadly around, as if looking for a recognizable face. There were, of course, none. Everyone in the airport seemed to be nearly the same age- some were well groomed, others a bit scruffier, but everyone seemed to be fairly affluent. They were moving quickly, no expressions on their faces, except momentary flinches as they stumbled, or dropped something. They wore bland clothes, dark colours, a little threadbare in places, as if they hadn’t stopped walking the same airport in days and hadn’t changed.

“They don’t care. Look who those people are looking out for. Themselves. Do you see any family, any young children, anyone looking after anyone else?” She looked around, and didn’t. She looked at the old man, puzzled.

“How long have you been here?” She noticed that he certainly was less well dressed than the others. A suit that went out of fashion thirty years ago, a long beard, wild hair, graying. His teeth were yellowing, his fingernails were very long. His shoes had no soles left, so that his toes poked out of the ends.

He smiled thinly, humourlessly. “Far too long. I tried to get out of here a long time ago. Cancelled my flight as well. It was rerouted somewhere else, probably somewhere with lots of little kids and where everyone is happy all the time. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Will I be stuck here?”

He looked at her, the smile fading. “Depends on how badly you want to get where you were going to go. Where your flight was headed, that is. Do you mind going somewhere similar, but not exactly the same? How about somewhere different, where you don’t understand anybody? How about you walk out the door and go back where you were before?”

“I can’t go back.”

His eyes flashed knowingly, and he looked sadly at the hat in front of him. “You know how many people leave tips for me and my music? Not enough. I get a free coffee every morning and a sandwich at lunch off the café owner. He’s in similar straits. No one here wants to stop for a minute. It’s a bland place this- everyone knows where they want to go, but not how to get there. Lots of lines refuse to fly here anymore, because of what the passengers do when they get off at their destination. Deathly serious lot. They go, see what they think they need to see, and then move on. Quick-snap.”

“Where should I go, then?”

“Away from here. Before it starts on you. This is where real life begins to come into play. You have experience, you’ve probably been to loads of other airports and cities. You know what they’re like. Little kids running around, old couples hand in hand strolling along. Not here. No fun vacationers come here. You enter this airport and you either get out quickly, or you stay. You become like me if you stay- old, and sad.”

“Why are you sad? You have what you need- food, a place to sleep.”

“What sort of life is it? I play music every day, and no-one stops. No-one cares. They want to get out. They want to go somewhere sunny, but after a while, they realise that it’s not going to fulfill them. Or make them happy. So they come back. Some leave, and never return- don’t know what happens to them. Maybe they weren’t here long enough to get sucked in. Or they stay where they are, or move to a different place, hoping to fly off and leave their problems. That usually doesn’t work- shedding problems doesn’t come easily.”

“Why doesn’t everyone leave? Surely if it’s so bad here, they can all find their way to a gate and get on some plane.”

“You’d think that. Every year, someone builds more on to this place. Already the largest airport in the region. Going to keep growing. As long as more people get here, the worse it gets, until finally no-one can find anything. Hallways to nowhere, gates that planes don’t fly out of, buildings in the middle of a runway… it doesn’t stop. There’s always someone willing to add something on, and someone willing to support him.”

“So how do I get out?”

“Stop caring where you’re going. Decide something spontaneously. We can’t always get to where we’re going, accept it. Pick somewhere else. Somewhere else you might think suits you. Only a fool expects to get what they want all of the time. You have to roll with it and change directions. Go where the wind takes you, so to speak. You don’t need to go somewhere completely different, but be flexible.”

“And so how do I do that?”

“It starts by walking up to that desk you just left, looking at that face directly, and saying you want to leave. The next flight available.”

She nodded, taking in this wisdom. “Thank you. How can I repay you?”

He smiled, the humanity coming alive in his eyes, something she saw in no-one else around. “Leave a tip.” She dropped a five-pound note into the man’s hat, and walked up to the counter. She deftly cut through the large crowd of people, who were becoming increasingly agitated, and stepped up to the counter.

“I want to leave,” she announced to the face, who swiveled to look at her.

“Please state your destination.”

“The next plane out of here.”

“Gate 25. Turn right at the yellow sign. Thank you, and have an enjoyable flight.” The smiling face gave over the ticket, took the woman’s bag, and waved her on. A few people looked awed at the deftness of this woman in the large crowd, but most quickly returned to shouting at each other and the clerk as soon as she had passed.

She walked quickly, a bounce in her step. That was all she needed to do. Let go of something she couldn’t control, and carry on. As if nothing had happened. That was the secret- it wasn’t to insist on going where you wanted, that would get you nowhere. There were things she couldn’t control, and she hadn’t accepted it until now. She saw the big yellow sign, reading about things you couldn’t take on a plane, turned left, and walked straight into the gate. There were only five minutes until the plane was set to begin boarding, but she took a seat anyway.

So easy, and yet so difficult to see. Flexibility. Life isn’t what we want when we want it, it’s how we take what we’re given. She pulled out the ticket she was given, eager to see her destination. On the ticket, it read in large letters:

Departing: Limbo
Arriving: Joy

She looked at it and smiled… yes, finally, she was leaving the limbo she felt in her life. Headed for joy? Who could say that wasn’t better than where she had originally intended? What would happen when she was there? What did she know about it? What would it look like? All these questions competed within her, until a voice from beside her quelled them.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” A man with startlingly blue eyes looked at her, and sat down. He carried a newspaper and a small souvenir keychain. His eyes were full of what she could only describe as life- a mix of happiness and sadness and fury and loneliness and contentedness and longing that she longed to know more about.

“No, not at all. You’re headed to Joy?”

“It wasn’t my first choice, but I think I’ll like it.” He spoke with surety, a surety that calmed her very soul, as the attendant, almost a carbon copy of the clerk, announced the flight was boarding.

FIN

Thank you for reading. I hope you are ok.