It's cold. So cold. I can feel the weight crushing my legs. Are they pinned? I know I should try and free them, but I'm so tired. I can hear shouting, but it sounds so far away, like an echo caught in the wind. I want to close my eyes. Just for a minute. Maybe then the throbbing in my head will go away. I'm aware of the blood pooling out from the body beside me, but I can't recall his name for some reason. I should fight, but I'm just so cold, so I close my eyes instead.
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Skittering in the Underbelly
It's dark in the deep hold that you find yourself nestled in. The cold metal of the plane is pressed up against you, your belly to its in a way that that feels almost too intimate to describe. Though you cannot see outside, the pressure you can feel all around you lets you know that you are in the air. The domain of the gods, pierced by mortals. Perhaps that is why you exist: as a reckoning for mankind’s sins. The hairs on your body stand up almost as though responding to this pressure. Though you have become so attuned to the air, every time you ascend fills you with joy. There is a sense of thrill that comes from sneaking aboard: darting in and up the ramp right underneath the exhausted gazes of the men stacking the luggage underneath the floorboards of the plane’s cabin, but nothing compares to the rush you get when the wheels finally depart and the ground becomes just a patchwork quilt of green, brown, and gray.
By Robin Laurinec3 years ago in Fiction
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