Young Writers Society

Airport Dreams Never Left The Ground

Twenty seven hours without sleep and Miles was on top of the world. Well, not exactly, but Moscow is close enough to it. The world feels so much bigger than normal when you're lying on the floor of an airport so far from home. Its easy to feel at peace with the world and be content with your place in it when you are surrounded by such a calm environment. He knew these feelings well, and he loved them more each time they came around. It was really amplified this time by the sleepiness of the early hours of the morning. Lack of sleep can do great things to a mind.

Some people sat and drank coffee, or read the newspaper, or ate a surprisingly expensive breakfast. Others sat and looked out the airport windows at the planes landing and taking off, most likely thinking of somewhere better to be. Miles sat by himself on a chair, with not a single person sharing that section with him. The only thing barely keeping him awake for the moment was his walkman, his Pink Floyd tape and knowing that Sara was coming back with his apple juice any moment. He was listening to Wish You Were Here, a song that always brought a smile to his face. "What the hell," he said to himself softy. "I'll just rest my eyes for a quick second." At that he spread himself over the couple of seats around him and closed his eyes.

Almost immediately the people around him were forcing him to sway with them to the music. "We're just two lost souls swimmin' in a fish bowl, year after year," the crowd sung as Roger Waters led them from the stage. Everyone around Miles was singing and swaying so he joined in too. He truly let himself be immersed in the ocean of people surrounding him. The song finished and everyone cheered and applauded for Pink Floyd. They began to play another song but Miles couldn't hear a thing. He could see Mr. Gilmour playing his guitar but there didn't appear to be any sound coming from the amps at the back wall. That was when he heard Sara's voice telling him that she had his apple juice. He stood up and took it from her with a smile and a thankyou. "Ah crap, the batteries in my walkman are dead," he said after he took a sip. "Could you stay here and watch the bags while I go get some new ones?" he asked Sara.
"No problem," she said. "My legs need a rest after standing in line for these drinks for so long anyway."
"Thanks," he said as he walked off.

Sara sat now in the seat where Miles had before, slowly drinking her coffee. She had been awake for just as long as Miles, and she hoped caffiene would keep her that way. Her thoughts strayed to all the places she and Miles had been in the last six weeks. Paris, Athens, Moscow and Berlin had all been amazing, though their tour of Italy had taken her breath away like nothing ever before. From Rome to Florence, and then to Venice, all the while taking in the glory that is Italy. The thought alone made her want to find a plane headed that way and never look back, but she knew it wouldn't happen. She lowered her head to take a sip of her coffee and when she looked up again a young boy stood in front of her. "Che cosa posso ottenere per voi?," the boy asked.
After a quick look at the menu she said in her broken Italian, "Mangerò appena un... caffè, grazie."
"Molto buon," said the boy and he went back to the kitchen. Sara took a look around at the place. People sat at small round tables with red and white checkered table cloths eating biscotti and drinking coffee, as it was too early in the day for wine. There were flowers in vases all over the place. In vases on elaborate pedestals, on the tables, on shelves coming out from the walls and even in the kitchen. Before she could take in everything this little cafe had to offer, the boy came back to her table with her order.
"Grazie," she said with a smile.
The boy smiled back and said, "Flight 328 to London, departing from gate 4 in 10 minutes." He then proceeded to hit her over the head with a magazine.

"I wasn't aware they sold Time Magazine in Russia," Miles said with a laugh. "Its in English too, I guess thats a bonus. I bought it to relieve your boredom, 'cause i know how bored you get at places like these."
"Graz-" she stopped suddenly. "I mean, thanks. I'll read it a bit later. Right now I just wanna finish my coffee."
"Okay."

It wasn't a bad read, if a little dull. I'm not sure I understood what the whole point of the piece was. I do have one point to pick at, though:

"She had been awake for just as long." How long had she been awake, and just as long as what?

Sorry about that little thing. I should have made it more clear. Consider it changed.

Anything else anyone wanna say?

Revised and completed. Man I'm lazy.

Airport Dreams Never Left The Ground

The world, as seen by the sleep-deprived languorous on the floor of an airport, is the simplest thing imaginable. It is nothing, a gathering of travellers each lost on an ever-changing, seemingly impossible, journey to escape. All are successful in the end though.

Some sit and drink coffee, read newspapers, or eat bland, surprisingly expensive breakfasts. Some sit looking out the windows at planes landing and taking off, thinking of somewhere better to be. Miles sat by himself, with no one at all sharing the area with him. The only thing barely keeping him awake was his Walkman, Pink Floyd tape and that Sara was coming back with his apple juice any moment. He was listening to Wish You Were Here, a song that always brought a smile to his face. "What the hell," he said to himself softy. "I'll just rest my eyes for a quick second." At that he spread himself over the couple of seats around him and closed his eyes.

Almost immediately the people around him were forcing him to sway with them to the music. "We're just two lost souls swimmin' in a fish bowl, year after year," the crowd sung as Roger Waters led them from the stage. Everyone around Miles was singing and swaying so he joined in too. He truly let himself be immersed in the ocean of people surrounding him. The song finished and everyone cheered and applauded for Pink Floyd. They began to play another song but Miles couldn't hear a thing. He could see Mr. Gilmour playing his guitar but there didn't appear to be any sound coming from the amps at the back wall. That was when he heard Sara's voice telling him that she had his apple juice. He stood up and took it from her with a smile and a thankyou. "Ah crap, the batteries in my walkman are dead," he said after he took a sip. "Could you stay here and watch the bags while I go get some new ones?" he asked Sara.
"No problem," she replied, half smiling, half sighing. "My legs need a rest after standing in line for these drinks for so long anyway."
"Thanks," he said as he walked off.

Sara sat now in the seat where Miles had before, slowly drinking her coffee. She had been awake for just as long as Miles, and she hoped caffeine would keep her that way. Her thoughts strayed to all the places she and Miles had been in the last six weeks. Paris, Athens and Berlin had all been amazing, though their tour of Italy had taken her breath away like nothing ever before. From Rome to Florence, and then to Venice, all the while taking in the glory that is Italy. The thought alone made her want to find a plane headed that way and never look back, but she knew it wouldn't happen. She lowered her head to take a sip of her coffee and when she looked up again a young boy stood in front of her. "Che cosa posso ottenere per voi?" the boy asked.
After a quick look at the menu she said in her broken Italian, "Mangerò appena un... caffè, grazie."
"Molto buon," said the boy and he went back to the kitchen. Sara took a look around at the place. People sat at small round tables with red and white chequered tablecloths eating biscotti and drinking coffee, as it was too early in the day for wine. There were flowers in vases all over the place. In vases on elaborate pedestals, on the tables, on shelves coming out from the walls and even in the kitchen. Before she could take in everything this little cafe had to offer, the boy came back to her table with her order.
"Grazie," she said with a smile.
The boy smiled back and said, "Flight 328 to London, departing from gate 4 in 10 minutes." He then proceeded to hit her over the head with a magazine.

"I wasn't aware they sold Time Magazine in Russia," Miles said with a laugh. "Its in English too, I guess that’s a bonus. I bought it to relieve your boredom, 'cause I know how bored you get at places like these."
"Graz-" she stopped suddenly. "I mean, thanks. I'll read it a bit later. Right now I just wanna finish my coffee."
"Okay."

Miles looked at his watch, it read 6:05 but it could have been any time of day at all for all he knew. Still two hours of waiting around until their stopover in Moscow was over. At long last they were heading home to Melbourne. He found it ironic that he always hated Melbourne until he left. Now nowhere in the world would satisfy him more than home. Home. Even the word sounded good to him. Smiling makes it difficult to keep your eyes open though.

So he stood up and felt his way to the door in the darkness of his bedroom. After almost tripping on a pair of pants he had thrown on the ground, he got to the door and turned the light on. The clock on the wall had been stuck at quarter to 7 for days, but for some reason Miles believed that was the time. With a curse of at the clock and a rub of his eyes, he began frantically trying to find clothes. If he was late for work one more time his supervisor said he’d be fired before he even had time to give an excuse. He was dressed in less than a minute, and it didn’t matter that he didn’t look perfect like he liked to think he always did. No time to have breakfast or tend to his personal hygiene in any way, he was going to be late. “Can’t be late,” he whispered angrily to himself as he walked out the door.
“What are you talking about?” Sara enquired with a puzzled look on her face. “The plane doesn’t leave for another two hours or so.”
“I knew that,” Miles responded like he was fully aware of what was going on. “I was just stating that when the time does come for us to go to the gate, we can’t be late.” His explanation didn’t even sound believable to his own ears, but he stuck with it.

With that he decided staying awake was pointless and closed his eyes again, hoping that Sara would stay awake to warn him that the plane was boarding now. Who needs consciousness to enjoy the end of a holiday anyway?