A Long Ways From Home

Chapter #1

The desolate expanse of sand and sun shattered the meager amount of hopes my mind had managed to concoct.The tiny shards and fragments, of what drove me to continue on, littered the sweltering sand my blistered feet lay upon. As if in a trance, I propelled myself forward. Stepping on and crushing the flecks that seemingly held my very existence intact. The festering wounds that speckled my face and neck screamed as I craned my neck, and desperately wished the deceptions that exhaustion and dehydration played on your feeble mind, when brought up, were at work. The sun beat it's way though the dry and battered clothes that hung in rags on my back, all the while slowly burning the flesh on my very body, slowly burning me alive.

As I slid my feet ever so slowly forward, it became more and more clear that there was no way out of the short life that had been carelessly deposited upon me.

***

"Ladies and gentleman, please buckle your seat belts, sit back, and relax. We are preparing for take off," the audio box, weakened over the many years of use, crackled and scratched at the supposedly comforting words that escaped from its withered being. My hands shook and convulsed as I desperately attempted to fasten my seatbelt. Finally, a split second before the building frustration (fueled by anger toward the fact that I thought I could survive an airplane) boiled over and singed the cheap blue carpeting that covered the flying death-trap, a flight attendant took note of my obvious discomfort.

"Excuse me, ma'am, are you in need of assistance?" Her whiny voice echoed in my ears as dots danced across her vest and face. Of course I was in 'need of assistance', my somatic nervous system was malfunctioning. All I was capable of doing was bobbing my head in time to the black blobs currently doing the Macarena up and down her front. Her eyes clouded over with question as my torso lurched forward. My hand shot up to my mouth, too late. Partially digested blueberry bagel erupted from my mouth and onto her sky-blue uniform. She shrieked as the chunks slowly dribbled down her perfectly tailored suit. "Oh my God!" Was all she could manage before she burst into tears and scurried to the back of the plane, all the while flailing her arms around her head as if a vulture of some sort was circling her, preparing to land and feast on the brittle and over-dyed hairs that spewed from her pores.

As soon as she was out of sight, I scrambled to my feet. I felt as my body wavered slightly and my legs threatened to introduce me to the grungy carpeting below. My leadened feet grazed the floor as I shuffled to the bathroom. People flicked their eyes from their newspapers, but just for a split second before quickly averting them back again. I noticed as the lady in the pink flamingo-sweater casually lifted her hand to her nose, as if to swipe away an itch. I pushed past her and dragged my weary body into the small cubicle they call a bathroom. As soon as the coast was clear and my nauseous self was safe from curious on-lookers, I emptied the rest of my stomach into the toilet bowl.

I groaned in pain as I tenderly closed my mouth and relaxed my esophagus. My throat burned from the excess acid eating away at the soft tissue inside my pie-hole. "Why," was all that trickled from my lips as the peanuts I ate a short while earlier acquaintance themselves with the glistening throne that took up over half of the meager space provided by the cramped room.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" A British accent flooded from the small spaces between the door and the doorframe into the confined space.

"Yes," I squeaked as I swiped my mouth with toilet paper and flushed the toilet. My muscles strained as I pushed myself from the safety of the toilet bowl and into open air. I hastily rearranged the flyaway hairs that exploded from my ponytail and pulled up my pants. No body needs to see that stuff.

I yanked open the door and eyed the attendant, "I am fine, thank you, but I would widely appreciate it if your captain could figure out how to fly this plane properly. My stomach strongly disagrees with his methods," the flight attendant's eyes blew up as I flicked my ponytail off of my shoulder and clambered through the crowded isle, all the while scanning the rows for my seat. Luckily, they had already tended to my little episode so my seat was free of flies (if there had been any on the plane to begin with) and grimaces from other passengers.

I plopped my weary body into the cardboard seat and jammed my finger down onto the recline button. Three inches later, I was as comfortable as it gets sitting right-side up in a chair made up of materials never before seen by your glutes.