lachesism
the desire to be struck by disaster
imagine; you're on a plane. your feet are tucked in your lap under a thin blanket. a stranger is pressed up against you on either side. outside the closed window a world passes, a city, an ocean. the seat is only slightly uncomfortable. you feel too hot, but the air conditioning jet on your face is too cold. it smells like chemicals and peppermint. the stranger to your left slides the window cover open a few inches. you see the plane's wing. it's smooth and white but there's a small flap on the surface that moves in an unusual way. suddenly it tears and you see smoke. the seatbelt light comes on. the captain announces an emergency landing. it's only been a few seconds since you looked outside yet you feel your stomach begin to drop and it's not just your stomach. passengers start to panic and the filtered air smells faintly of an electrical fire. you breathe it in as deep as you can. the view from the tiny window is the wrong angle. you see too much sky - and then, too much water. that's when the screaming starts. belongings start to slide down the aisles and for a second you're looking directly down the nose of the plane. you're plummeting towards the atlantic ocean and you're silent. silent until your face splits into the biggest smile it has ever displayed. and you laugh. you laugh and you laugh and it's a laugh of delight. then you blink and freeze, because the plane is level and quiet. the wing is smooth and white. the stranger on your right shifts in their sleep. you look out the window and see the sea, so many miles below. it smells like peppermint and chemicals. you stare at the sea and it doesn't get any closer and salty tears trace their way down your cheeks. you're safe and you weep. it's just one more plane ride with no destination. and you failed for the last time.
YOU ARE READING
short stories by snowman
Historia Cortait feels so familiar, like someone you loved and whose face you have forgotten. somewhere in your body, somewhere that doesn't exist starts to ache. it aches for the singing of the stars. you just want to go home, don't you? if only you knew where t...
