DEAD FLOWERS

I Hate Fast Food

Song of the Chapter:

Raised By Wolves
By: Falling In Reverse

-Carly/Scarlett-

I glance out the window, tucking my mother's credit card into my Mudd sweatshirt pocket. I hitched the waist of my skinny jeans up, biting down on a bubble of lemon gum.

It was the sourest flavour I could find.

Suddenly, the pilot's voice came over the speakers.

"About, ten minutes 'till we land in LA, people. You excited?" Everyone cheered, except me. "Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!" He shouts, the speakers crackling. I hear the click signaling he put the radio down.

I roll my eyes. How people could have so much enthusiasm about something, it's beyond me. The old man next to me pats my knee.

"Hey, girly." He rasps. I give him a small smile. The woman, whom I'm assuming is his daughter, grabs his arm. She gives me an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, sweetheart. He's way friendly," She says, crunching a chip obnoxiously. I nod, a fake smile plastered on my face. I probably look like a Barbie doll, but I hate being called 'sweetheart'. It's what my dad called me. My long, flaxen blonde hair tickles my chin as I turn back towards the window.

Somewhere behind us, a baby cries. There's always that one annoying kid that cries the whole time, you know what I mean?

We break through the clouds, and I notice frost forming along the bottom edge of the window. The captain comes back on.

"Welcome to the beautiful city of Los Angeles, folks." The plane dips lower and lower, finally skimming along the runway.

With a thump, the plane touches down, skidding down the track. The fins on the wings go up, and I hold my breath. I've always hated this part of the flight, I feel like we're going to crash into a building. The plane slows to a stop.

One last time, the captain comes on.

"Thanks for flying with us today, and we hope you had a great flight. Our lovely...flight attendants are doing a final round with the trash bags, so if you have any trash, please throw it away. Other than that, have a good day!" The final click resounds around the aircraft.

Suddenly, the old man grabs my arm and shoves me out of the seat. I topple into the aisle, and a man trips over me. He crashes to the ground. I'm up and offering him my hand in an instant. Then, slowly, I relax. My slouch comes back, and I raise my eyebrow.

"Sorry about that," I say, "Need a hand?" He raises an eyebrow back, and I realize he's only a bit older than I am. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. He pushes himself up off the ground, dusting off his shirt. It has a logo that looks like someone took a pencil and slashed through it.

It says Blud.

He gives me a grim smile.

"No, that's all right," He says softly. "We all trip up in life sometimes, don't we?" He pushes past me without another word, sauntering and whistling down the aisle.

I have a feeling he wasn't talking about physical tripping.

I look over at my seat. The young woman's mouth looks like its about to fall off her face.

"I–I'm...he's...do...I'm sorry. D–do you want us to move?" She asks, flustered. I shake my head.

"We're going to get off soon, anyway," I mutter, leaning against the seat. She nods, swallowing. I pull out my phone, glancing at the screen.