Creative Writing

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Creative Writing essay:

The air terminal grew to seem like a waste lad; a desert of aridity, commercialism and antiseptic smiles. Our flight was delayed.

The whole incident began a mere 5 hours ago, when I arrived with my parents at Heathrow the bustling International airport, which has become a symbol of Britain’s aviation supremacy. The pleasant taxi ride to the airport gave me the chance to quill the fears of my first flight and to fill me with a sense of mysterious anticipation.

The airport itself felt like a focal point for people from all walks of life, gathering in one place for one sole purpose of flight. The sheer number of people engulfed me with a sense of uncertainty and dread as I walked through the long meandering passageways of the building and into the waiting lounge.

The waiting lounge was a gigantic room encompassed with double glazed glass; frequent fliers, businessmen, parents and more importantly children. It is on seeing the children that my initial sceptism of flying disappeared and was replaced with a certain belief and confidence, which was lacking in my life; it also gave me the opportunity to strike a friendship with other children from different cultural backgrounds.

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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 ...

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