Letting Go of Jamie

Chapter 1: Don't Eat McDonald's Before a Getting on a Plane

 Okay, so this is crap right now. But I want to get all the way through writing this story and then go back and do some MAJOR editing. Just, bare with me? I don't know, but comments would be welcome. I am aware it doesn't flow very well, but that's what i will do when i go back and edit the whole thing. Just might take a while...

BUT THANK YOU FOR READING. ENJOY!!

Chapter 1: Don’t Eat McDonald’s Before Getting on a Plane.

A red haze.

 All that is seen is a red haze, and the boy in front of me.

 How dare he.

 My fist comes to a sickening crunch on his left eye. Other fist slamming him in the temple. Both hands come to the top of my head, slamming them down on the back of his head. Bringing my knee to his chin at the same time, feeling the satisfying crack of bone breaking. Kicking and kicking him on the ground, the feel of his soft, breakable flesh on the steel tip of my combat boot.

 But the haze does not go away, it becomes thicker and stronger.

 How dare he.

 He must feel the pain. The pain of everyday living without him.

 The flashing of red, blue, and white barely registers in the haze.

 His blood soaks my hands and boots, filling in the cracks of the concrete with red. The sweet, coppery taste in my own mouth.

 But it’s nothing compared to the pain of living without him…

 Bolting up in my seat I expect to see police cruisers and the cold pressure of hand cuffs, as a balding 40 year old reads me my Miranda rights.

 But I’m not being arrested……

 I’m in an airplane.

 The smell of sweat and filtered oxygen hit me, and I slump back in my seat with a hard sigh. According to my watch, I have 30 more minutes until my new life begins.

 Looking out the window, I imagine being free and twirling through the clouds, feeling the moisture of condensation on my face and hands. To be able to go anywhere and be anything, and forget everything.

 If only…

 “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing soon. Please be seated and no more moving about the cabin. Make sure you seat belts are buckled as well. Thank you.”

 Coming back to reality, I buckle my seat belt and 10 minutes later, we start to hit turbulence. The guy next to me ain’t lookin’ so well. Those two Big Macs I saw him inhale before boarding look like they might be making a comeback. I try and look for a flight attendant, but of course they’re all hunkered down in the back.

 Crap.

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Twenty minutes later I stand in the terminal, the smell of vomit still in my nose, and partly on my jacket. Incidentally, Barf Bag passes me, and I shoot him a glare that could kill. He visibly flinches and runs away like Satan is on his heels.

 Next time I fly, I’m buyin’ out the seats next to me….

 I keep looking around, trying to find the shock of red hair that is my aunt Kat. By the time I do find her, she’s running toward me, ready to pile drive me with a hug. I barely prepare myself in time before 130 pounds of red hair, fake nails, and the One Directions new perfume “Our Moment” slams into me.