Flight QF7

Finalist in the 'Write Along 2018' competition

A feeling in my gut told me today I was not supposed to be on flight QF7. It was to be a quick one-hour flight to Melbourne for business purposes. My morning began in panic, as my eyes focused on the red numbers on my alarm clock. I was so late, the stupid alarm clock decided not work. On the way to the airport a five-car pile up caused my stress levels to peak. Swerving through the traffic like a madman, I parked my car at the airport, knowing the parking cost alone was going to set me back a day’s wage, but I didn’t care, if I didn’t get on this plane, I wouldn’t have a job waiting for me when I get back.
With my backpack strapped to my bag, I sprinted with my navy suite and brown leather shoes to an empty Qantas check-in desk. I was the last to board the plane. Touching the outside of the 767 before entering for luck, I felt the stress slowly disappear. I made it. I could breathe again. That’s when I noticed all seated eyes turned on me. Now, it seemed, I was wrecking their day. Darting my eyes to the overhead numbers, I found my window seat. A smile of despair flashed over my face when I spotted an enormous woman taking up her seat and encroaching on my side. I shook my head as I dug my bag in the overhead compartment and squeezed into my uncomfortable window seat.
Ten minutes into the flight with an arched back facing the window, I ordered a coffee from the flight attendants. As I slowly took a sip, the enormous beast sitting beside me caused a wave in my cup that sent it splashing all over my brand new silk tie. The lady apologised and I held in the profanity I wanted to unleash, but didn’t. I excused myself and headed for the bathroom at the back of the plane. That’s when my eyes caught sight of this bold tanned man, most likely Middle Eastern. Sweat was pouring off his head, his arm holding his chest like he had something to hide. Our eyes meet and he looked away, like he was scared. I walked past the man and entered the bathroom and rubbed water on my tie.
Exiting the jail sized bathroom, my eyes flashed back to the man on the right, but to my horror he was not in his seat, he was walking up the aisle. His jacket was left on the floor. My eyes now like a hawk, as he took off his jumper. Please don’t be a suicide bomber I prayed. He slowly turned. My imagination took over, seeing a man holding a bomb with wires strapped to his chest. His right palm touched his chest. This is it, I thought. He now completely turned, but there was no bomb, he was no terrorist. He was having a heart attack.



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