Meager murmurs meaninglessly meander at midnight as the mumbling masses moan and groan after each slow sequential step. Families and friends find phones to tediously tick time towards their departure, tip tapping tirelessly while the fireflies float as free as fog. The clatter and pitter patter of playful children long ago faded into silent snores, the clamorous cacophony replaced by an unspoken orchestra of the days drain. Quite comparable to corpses one may say, our restless vessels sagging like lost and lonely puppets kept aloft by time tested twine.
Another agonizing step arrives and this creepy crowd collects its clutter, clumping together as the current returns to their stream. Clumsily continuing on, the scent of coffee keeping cognition conscious, the gawky group gawps and gazes at their sleek and silent surroundings. Silver rails shining sends shivers down your spine, these radiant rays reflected from the regal rock that hung above them all. Miraculous marble makes this moonlit mood into a morbid montage, detailing a deep drudgery in this dark dreary domain. To delusional dregs the dainty displays that decorated the walls seemed dubious. Framed falsities on which to falter should one fail to familiarize themselves with their ornate operations.
Once one observes their overheads then they plod purposely forward, perfectly peerless to peeves and penalties. People persistently peddle them and each one rightly receives their penance as ignorance. Disdain then declares itself in each and every soundless stride. So strange how suddenly ones tiresome trek transforms to a tirade of total confidence with a simple survey for insight. This man knows what he knows and knows it well, so while we weary wastrels wait and wander wayward, he alone shall swiftly sweep across this perilous place to settle into stance at his gate.
All the while we who are obviously unaware end up opposite to our terminus, totally bereft and left bare of direction. We then bestow ourselves with bountiful haste and dash dangerously betwixt bevies of our fellow tired travelers. Many men may blame their betrothed so as not to bespatter their poignant pride yet fruitlessly their efforts do fall as arguments ensue and time ticks on. It is only after all this, the woeful waiting and rigorous running that we arrive at our end as the epitome of exhaustion. Only for the whole thing to begin anew, as we linger, longing to soar upon angels wings.
YOU ARE READING
A Night at the Airport
Short StoryA simple yet complex short tale of one persons time at an airport.