Short Story / European Cigarettes
Sitting in the pristine shine of airport windows and walls, I’m hoping that the plane will be ready soon. The delay is getting really old really fast. I haven’t been on a plane in years, and my whole body is shaking perceptibly, the Chai in my hand is steaming, and I’m regretting buying it, because I want to be asleep as much as possible on this trip. Friends, family, love, loss, hate and rage are all behind me, staring through the glass double doors, undoubtedly calling my name, and I’m wondering whether the bad outweighs the good, or vice versa. What I do know, for certain is that I’m running away as fast as I can. I have nothing to look forwards to, but a couch in the house of a distant relative I don’t know, and european cigarettes with a bottle of wine for dinner.
Behind me, I can feel things shifting and pressing. It’s a depression that I’ve never had much control over, the residue of inherited fears and emptiness, and it all comes down upon me now, harsh as summer sunlight. I remember reading in a book that heavy white fog dominates the valley I’m going to be living in, and I hope that the modernist knew what he was talking about, because I want more than anything to escape the sun. Looking around shamefully, I press my palms to my eyes to smear a couple of tears across my cheeks and nose. My face is burning, I know it’s red from rubbing, and I feel like a child all over again. I’m going to miss a lot of people, and as I stare at my ticket east, I wonder if it’s worth the pain of separation.
There’s an almost ambiguous shift on the screen above me, and it says that my flight is boarding. I get up and shoulder my backpack, and with one last glance back at the place where I became who I am, turn and step slowly up the escalator. Around me, trails of people are forming and dodging through the terminal, over and around scattered luggage and accompanying chairs. Standing now at the boarding tunnel, I hold out my ticket to the employee, she bends it, rips it and hands it back with a worn out smile. I can’t help but sneer at the half-hearted turn of her lips, and I know that I’m not going to miss this place, and I won’t look back again, however worried I am that you might be standing behind me, waiting for my longing look back.
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This is a very deep story. Did it really happen to you or is just a creation of your mind? This story leaves a lot of questions, which is nice for emphasis, everyone seems to think every question needs to be answered, but I believe in this piece it’s the same questions the main character has and in that we as readers are forced to feel the same way.
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This is a very vivid short story. Well done. I would’ve liked to have seen shorter sentences or use of a ”;” or a ”...” in some of them. I felt this especially so in the second paragraph. The ending was great.
Suggestion 1: My face is burning; I know it’s red from rubbing… I feel like a child all over again.
Suggestion 2: I can’t help but sneer at the half-hearted turn of her lips. I know that I’m not going to miss this place, and I won’t look back again but I’m worried; you might be standing behind me, waiting for my longing look back.
I’m not an expert on these things, but it just breaks up the sentences and makes them a little more punchy.
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