Cabin Life

• Ella Bayly, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2017

All I could hear was the gradual whirring of the plane and the innocent cries of children which surrounded me. Bags shoved under the floor, limp but well loved, as the seat belt flickered with the uncertainty of safety in this airbus. The metal, curved walls seemed to close in, almost suffocating me. These metal walls held stories of hope, happiness, and crushed and broken spirits. One person in particular caught my attention; her worn, frayed face concealed itself under a mask of makeup, her hands moving swiftly buckling many kids into seats. My eyes began to focus growing adaptive to the mellowed strips of air plane lights, I fixated on one small imperfection - a small tear in the seat cover that engulfed me. As I looked to my right, I saw bodies in crisp black and yellow uniforms robotic-ally gathering information on what people want to eat and drink. I saw the animated expressions on the faces of the travellers seated alongside me. The flicking and fidgeting of dexterous fingers searching through tired and well-worn magazines distributed among the shuttle. A contagious buzz went through the plane when we took off. As we were lifted up into the air by our steel bird I could only feel my stomach left on the ground behind me with a million butterflies trying to push and shove their way out of me. To you it would be exciting, looking up where to eat and what to do, but for me I could only feel dread.