Unwritten

Task One: ☀ Entries ☀

☀Matthew Saitou☀

The ocean far below the plane's window glistened in the sunlight that reflected on it. Matthew Saitou stared at it, awed by the calm peacefulness of it. There was no orders being yelled, no cracking of rapid gunfire, no thundering explosions, soldiers screaming as they were shot and killed, or crying men, women and children as they died.

No, there was just the sun and the sea.

"Matt!" a sweet, familiar voice called.

He shifted his gaze to the rows in the middle of the plane, about three rows in front of his - although he was on the left side rows by the window. Sitting in a seat in the center, was Mystee, his girlfriend. They hadn't gotten seats next to each other, unfortunately.

"Did you want your earphones back?" Mystee asked, shouting to him from her seat.

He shook his head. "Keep 'em, babe."

A woman sitting on his right, blonde, curvy and middle aged, smiled. "Oh, you like listening to music too?"

Matt nodded. "Helps me sleep."

The woman's eyes shifted to the open book on the tray in front of him. "'The History of Pearl Harbor'?" she read. "You're interested in its history?"

Matt closed the book and grinned, unable to stop his inner history buff from escaping. "Yeah. My great-grandparents on both sides of my family fought there."

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh! What ship?"

Matt pursed his lips. "The Arizona..."

When she reacted the way he'd expected, sympathetic and honored, he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, well that and... one of the Japanese planes..."

That didn't get quite the same reaction. The woman turned away from him and didn't say anything else.

Matt glared at the cover of the book, at the picture of a capsizing ship with gray smoke bellowing away from it. It was as if he could smell the smoke - part sweet, part acrid. The hot fumes burned his nose and mouth. Chemicals mixed with the smoke, igniting his nose on fire -

BANG!

Matt jumped, heart racing, hands up and ready to attack. HIs right shoulder throbbed from the four-month-old wound there, but he felt none of it. He traced his eyes across the room, expecting soldiers, gunfire, and sand. Instead, only a plane surrounded him, with a young child popping a toy hand-gun in the center asile.

The child screamed and darted toward his mother, who glared at Matt furiously. The woman next to him slowly rose from her seat. She turned to one of the flight attendents. "Excuse me, could I move back a few seats?"

Matt turned away, breathing heavy, and pulled out his laptop. Remnant adrenaline fled his pumping blood, making him grimace at the pain in his shoulder. The memories from the flashback threatened to resurface, so instead, he looked at the computer screen.

The webpage opened to the site he'd left it on; one detailing reports on Pearl Harbor in Japanese. The words blurred, becoming sounds of screaming soldiers -

Suddenly, an ad popped up, yanking him from the memory. Just as he was about to click out of it, he saw large, bold words:

Ariston's Writers Resort

For simply 50 US dollars a night, meals included, this resort will be every writer's dream!

It listed several services, all of which sounded appealing to him. I do need a vacation... Maybe it would do me some good to get away, Matt thought. If anything, it will give me time to finish my book.