Creative Writing

As the day slowly wilted under the blackness of the night it was time to enter the steel can of bolts and girders, which would be my home for the next few hours. We were lead down a narrow walkway into the plane. I could hear the long-winded creek of the doors, as the air stewardess applied monumental pressure to try and wrench it open; this was followed by a harsh monotonous scraping sound created by the friction between two metal pieces. Once open to the public the fruit of three years work for Boeing employees was filled with a flood of people and luggage, which was followed by ensuing heated arguments between passengers; this raised the internal temperature of the room to the point of war. It took a long time for the same pre-flight calmness to return to the vessel as it effortlessly pulled out of the docking bay and majestically strolled towards the runway. The engines roared profusely, as the turbines powered up for flight waited for the moment of take off, the noise evoked reminiscences of a stampede.

It was time. The engines gave out an all might bellow and we came hurtling down the runway. The wings were slowly lifting when the tyres burst with a bang. It send pieces of rubber flying towards my window. The throttle was cut. The wing flaps were lifted. The plane came to a grinding halt.

Inside I was in a state of shock and disbelief; words can not express my feelings of vulnerability after the incident. I sat there staring out of the window, it was almost my way of shielding the truth of the incident from my heart. My brain the very organ of my existence had switched off and the body was left motionless in the clock less land of time. The sordid taste of my desiccated, salty saliva stuck to the floor of my tongue. My mother who is my tower of strength was in tatters, her mental strength has vanished and she too felt alone and defenceless. It took the screams of a young woman who fainted to revive my senses; as electricity flowed through my veins. I was determined to walk in as a 6 year old boy and walk out as the same innocent boy that entered with his mother, I quickly alerted my mother through violently shaking and screams of frustration. We made our way to the front of the plane, along gangways littered with bags and people who were still in a state of disarray. We were slowed down by the oncoming set of traffic from the aisles; hope was re-established when the air steward slide the door open. This was however short lived as systematically the air stewardesses jumped out of the plane. This left me with a  feeling of abandonment, which manifested itself into uncontrollably anger at the air stewardesses who neglected their job to save themselves.

It was a long after this that the passengers including my mother and myself got the chance to carefully slide down the rubber inflated slide and into the safe arms of the Heathrow airport firemen and the entourage of security BAA officials.  

I realised from this incident that life is beautiful, that it is the most precious thing of all and that we as humans must make the most of its interlocking pathways. This had lead me to live by the simple but powerful words ‘if you do not dream you do not believe.’