The Untitled Short Story About The Life Of A Suitcase

"Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts as the Captain prepares for take-off. Thank you!"
"Ah, Dublin here I come," I thought to myself. It had been a long two weeks in Los Angeles and I was ready to go home. Though it is always nice to get away, there is nothing like arriving home to a familiar place. Besides, the heat in LA is positively unbearable for any suitcase with heavy, black material like myself.

I looked around the cabin for a friendly face to talk to. I always found it quite rude when other cases would not even make an attempt at small talk. It makes the journey far less uncomfortable if you have someone to talk to, because after all, we are all thrown in together in a confined space with such little room that we can't help but rub up against each other involuntarily. This unfortunate situation is made even more uncomfortable if you have nothing better to do than stare at your wheels for the duration of the flight.

I noticed that the young fellow beside me, no more than a month or two old, was growing increasingly nervous with each passing moment.
"Are you alright there, son?" I asked him, trying to be friendly, but as soon as I saw the expression on his face I realized how stupid and unwelcome that question was.
"First timer, then, are you?" I asked.
"I'm fine!" he snapped viciously. He was one of those cocky, over-confident young bucks who believed that he was invincible and would challenge anyone who dared differ. I had come across plenty of these kids in my time. Heck, he even reminded me of myself when I was his age, many moons ago.
"You don't look fine," I said, signalling to the sweat dripping from him to the floor. It was obvious that the very notion of my implying that he was nervous was simply unacceptable.
"It's perfume..." he explained, "She has perfume in here.. In her make-up bag. It's.. It's leaking..."
"Whatever you say, son."

I looked away and directed my attention to three cases sitting together who had the same floral pattern. One big case and two smaller ones. "That's nice..." I thought to myself. Suddenly my train of thought was interrupted.

"Distract me."
"What?" It was the young case again, clearly in pain.
"Please, Sir, could you try to distract me or something?" he begged, "You were right before. This is my first time on a plane. I'm.. I'm petrified."
The velocity was increasing below us and we were moments away from flight.
"Ah, don't worry about it, son. Everything will be just fine. It'll be over before you know it. You get used to it, trust me. I can still remember my first flight. Gosh, it must be about six years ago by now. That's why Jack bought me. My owner, that is. He was going on a trip to France with some friends and needed a new suitcase. That's where I came in.
The worst part was, and still is, the over-personal and touchy-feely nature of the Customs Officers. That's something I'll never get used to. They have no respect. You would swear they were raised by animals the way they fling you around the place, rip you open and sometimes even take things out of you without a word of warning or even an explanation. In fact, just today the poor beggar in front of me caused quite a stir when he set the alarm off, entirely by accident I'm sure. The officer quickly ripped him open at the side. They ended up taking him away, through a set of heavy, black doors at the end of the room. He didn't come back..."
"What?!" The young suitcase had the fear of God in his eyes.
"Oh, don't worry," I reassured him, "other than that airports are generally quite pleasant, if you don't mind queueing. They're always bright and clean and busy and they give you a great opportunity to get some exercise. They become almost like a second home to you. I can guarantee you'll know all of the intercom announcements off by heart in no time. 'Passengers to London, Flight 52 to Gate 37 now, please', 'Items left unattended will be taken an destroyed', 'Would passenger John Doe please report to the Customer Services Desk immediately, thank you!' - I could go on."

I paused for a moment. We were well and truly in the air now.

"See, that wasn't so bad was it?" I asked the young fella, though he looked unconvinced. "Please keep talking," he blurted out, "I'm not cut out for all this!"
A brown, leather case glanced over at us.
"Why do I always get stuck next to the nutcases?" He muttered to himself.
"You mind your own business!" I snapped at him. He was not expecting that. I had seen his type before, too. He was one of those frequent flyers who belonged to a businessman, most likely. You could tell by the impatient look he had permanently slapped on his face, like he was worried about missing a meeting or something. They're all the same. He looked away. I turned to the boy.
"Look, son, I think that was all the cheap airport wisdom I've got to be honest..."
"But please, talk about anything..." He closed his eyes, most likely trying to envision himself somewhere safely on land. I had not seen a case quite as bad as this in a long time.

*

"Alright, alright. Just take a deep breath and try to relax," I told him. "Where should I begin? Let's see... I was made in a small factory in Dublin. They've since closed, sadly, because they cared more about quality than quantity and just couldn't keep up with all those mass production factories in places like China. They were really lovely, though. Every stitch and zip was applied with love and care. Leaving took it's toll on me, but look at me now. I'm thick skinned.
The first journey from the factory to the shop was the most exciting and most comfortable one I've ever experienced. Of course, we were brand new then. Top of the range. God forbid anything might happen to us. 'Handle With Care' they said. Now, however, it's an entirely different story, as you found out today for yourself. The shop was very excited to have us because we were beautiful and spacious and ideal for the upcoming holiday season. You could tell that all the other bags who had been sitting on the shelves for months trying to find owners were jealous of us - and we loved it. I was even chosen for the window display. That was my fifteen minutes of fame and it felt great. The only downside was when people, who you would think had never heard of a belt, would lean against the shop window. Fame comes at a price, I suppose.
Because I was in the window, I was the last of my kind to go and I remember it like it was yesterday. A young man, whom I would later find out was named Jack, and woman I presumed to be his girlfriend, were walking past when I caught Jack's eye. At that moment I knew my day had finally come. His girlfriend, Marie, was trying to get him to buy a different suitcase - a white one with flashy blue lining - but Jack insisted that he wanted 'the one in the window'. I felt so special!
I never liked Marie. One time she made Jack make room in me for her over-sized hair-dryer. It completely threw me out of proportion and I could barely keep my balance. It was awful. There is a knack to packing and you either have it or you don't. You should never pack to much or else it makes it impossible for your case to breathe without bursting a zipper, and if you pack too little any valuables or heavy items will go all over the place like fireworks in an alleyway, and the poor case will just end up all bloody and bruised. Our war wounds, as we like to call them.

*

It was two days after Jack bought me that I went on my first flight. After that I spent most of my time nestled at the bottom of his wardrobe, but I didn't mind. It was cosy, he always checked up on me at least twice a day, and sometimes he would even leave the wardrobe door ajar so that I could watch television with him at night.
We went lots of places together, but my favourite was always his parents house. No matter what time of day or night we arrived, there was always a heavenly aroma of freshly cooked dinner in the house, and his parents would always comment on what a great investment I had been, as I was as good as new after all these years. They love me, so they do.
I once spoke to a poor chap on a plane who had been abandoned in an attic after his family moved house. They just uprooted and left him there. It must have been awful for the poor guy. It wasn't until a new family moved in six months later that he was found. They cleaned him up and sent him to a charity shop. He was so lucky. He's got some issues but he's doing alright, now. Still, though, it must have been awful, don't you think? Son?" I looked over at the little lad, quite a bit smaller than me but brand new with striking red material. He was asleep. It was no wonder. I had been chatting away to myself for so long that I didn't even notice. To be honest, I wouldn't expect a young lad like him to hack an old beggar like me for very long. He lasted longer than I would have when I was his age. At least he had relaxed.

All that reflection took a lot out of me and I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with tiredness. I got comfortable, closed my eyes and before I knew it I was fast asleep.

*

I awoke to a gentle but determined poking at my side pocket.
"Mister Sir, it's time to get off. Sir, wake up, we're here." So now the little guy was looking after me, eh? I suddenly felt my age.
We parted ways as we were dragged off the platform by the Baggage Throwers and were brought to the baggage carousel. One by one I watched my fellow suitcases being collected by their families as the carousel became emptier and emptier until eventually I was the only suitcase left. The only person around was an angry looking security guard who kept staring at me. Where was Jack? I could feel myself beginning to panic.
I must have gone around that carousel at least thirty times before the security guard grabbed me and threw me on a trolley, quite aggressively if I might add, and he started wheeling me through the almost empty terminal.
"Where are you taking me?" I shouted, but he didn't hear me. I tried to squirm and to scream, but hard as I tried, I couldn't.
Just then an announcement was made throughout the airport and I suddenly realized my fate.

"Items left unattended will be taken and destroyed."

The words hung over me like a grey cloud in Winter. I was being wheeled down the green mile. Straight ahead of me I saw heavy, black doors similar to the ones in Los Angeles where my predecessor met his fate. Oh God. I called for Jack, for Marie... for anyone.
The heavy black doors were getting closer and closer and I could feel my heartbeat in every part of my body. I looked around for Jack one more time, but no luck. My time was up. It was over. Finito.

At that time I was not entirely sure about what exactly went on behind those doors, but I knew it was bad, and once the front of the trolley tipped them I closed my eyes, held my breath and awaited my final departure.