Status: completed 5/5
747
Seatbelts
Silence
A smokefree whisper
That’s exactly what we want
The air conditioned sound of speed
The mother leaves her pillow and turns left. The child sleeps with unexpected peace, beneath the air conditioner’s lullabies. His chest moves up and down rhythmically with a slight hiss, product of the phlegm from a receding cold. It’s almost time for his medicine, but she doesn’t want to wake him, so she slides up the window screen, and tries to look down at the world. There are only purple clouds, though, and the wing covers half her view.
The lighting inside the plane at this hour is dismal, for many of the passengers haven’t yet woken up and raised the blinds. The plane took off 3 hours after midnight, so most of them crumbled into their pillows with understandable ease. Flight attendants come out of the shadows only when they meet the glimmer of a no-smoking sign each 5 feet. She orders a glass of orange juice, since it’s her usual breakfast, and it’s now 6 in the morning. She wouldn’t have if she knew how stale her tongue would feel, and how cold the juice was. It’s better to leave it sitting there, she thinks, I don’t want to go to the restroom, anyway. The rare clouds she can see beneath the metal panels of the wing start to clear up into a wonderful yellow shade. Her expectations were much worse, flying with a sick Brandon for 8 hours, but aside from the mouth-numbing drinks, the experience was resulting quite pleasant.
During the opening announcements by the staff, a charming voice on an intercom said that the lights wouldn’t be turned on until 7:30, so that everyone could get some sleep. She counted the minutes and, after rejecting a tangerine icicle, cuddled up with her son. It was still a long way to go until they could meet with their family in Whitehorse. Grandma’s postcard seemed delighted to see them again after two years. She excused herself in her mind with tales of harshness and real life. Well, grandma, you know we love to visit, but with the divorce, and all… Yes, that would work. Then she began to fall asleep.
∞
Brooks sees the blue light as in dreams. Not fully aware, not fully credulous. Someone who could’ve seen him would’ve praised his cold blood. In fact, that’s what flight engineer Lee did, in his mind. But in truth, he wasn’t calm or collected. He was just skeptical. He knows he has to do something, but it takes him a couple of minutes to remember basic training, let alone the paragraph on the method book about bulkheads. It’s amazing how a man’s concentration is blown to smithereens after two hours of staring into blinking panels. Lee’s hands are sweating already, for he remembers the method book to a tee, and the pages it offers on bulkheads are some of the most frightening reading he’s done. He sits still in his seat however, for it is Brooks’ call to make. The pilot finally looks up at Lee with a mix of smugness and fear in his glance.
“Well, don’t stand there”
Lee leaves the cabin and heads for the rear end of the plane. Nice way of asking, he thinks, but at least he’s doing something. The rear hallway is bounded by a heavy titanium door, which makes a wheezing noise when opened. Like the ones on really enormous freezers. The cold inside is similar too. At the end of the hall lies a padded circle that seals the plane shut. This is the bulkhead. It looks like a perfect spider web. A flawless black and white drawing the way few spiders can actually do. Only the lines standing in front of Lee are not perfect. A crease is threatening to open on the bottom left of the circle, where screws have been loosened. He needs to get the tools.
Now.
As he runs back to the cabin, he notices the floor is beginning to be unstable. Almost like the unperceivable rumble of a beast inside a cave. Not something a mere passenger would notice, but for him it was enough to scratch every nerve in his body with an urgent bite. Brooks was almost startled by the quickness with which he opened the cabinet and grabbed the tool box.
“I’m beginning to lose pressure, what’s going on back there?”
“A line of screws is gone”
“Gone?”
“Yes. On the rear”
Brooks suddenly remembered every single word of his manual. “Hurry up”, he says, lowering his voice gravely as Lee heads back to the hall, stumbling with boxes along the way.
He fumbles for the microphone. This was chilling for him, but at least it wasn’t probable that a passenger knew what the situation meant, and caused a panic outburst. They deserve to know, Brooks thought, even if they won’t understand.
∞
Good morning, sorry to wake you up. This is your captain speaking. We seem to be having slight technical difficulties with the rear end bulkhead. It’s probable that we might experience a turbulence soon, which should stop when our flight engineer finishes the due repairs. In the meantime, as a safety measure, I have turned on the seatbelt lights, and everyone must fasten them as indicated by the crew. I’ll be with you shortly with an update. Keep calm, we’ll get you there.
At least he seems dependable, she thinks, as she fastened Brandon tightly into his seat. What on earth is a bulkhead, anyway? Probably not something very threatening. The word sounds whimsical, almost childish. Everybody seems to be fairly calm, even if it’s just the stagger of the waking. The crew is also firmly nailed into their seats, but they all smile at the passengers with a complicit grin.
Behind the drapes, where her eyes can’t venture, the first class guests, mostly suited men, see no other inconvenience other than their drinks being possibly spilt.
Above, inside the cabin, Brooks wonders what’s taking Lee so long. He was supposed to report back to the cabin with a walkie-talkie when he reached the rear, and that was minutes ago. The blue light flickers, taunting. An awaiting assassin.
Halfway down the hall, Lee crawls on the floor, trying to regain his composure. He slipped and hurt his ankle pretty badly, but he knows a mere joint of his puny body won’t excuse him from the job. Not this once, at least.
Outside, an eagle flies unaware among crystalline, freezing skies.
Then time held still for an instant, right before a mighty fire thunder woke every horror in the 486 souls that flew through the dawning day.
A smokefree whisper
That’s exactly what we want
The air conditioned sound of speed
The mother leaves her pillow and turns left. The child sleeps with unexpected peace, beneath the air conditioner’s lullabies. His chest moves up and down rhythmically with a slight hiss, product of the phlegm from a receding cold. It’s almost time for his medicine, but she doesn’t want to wake him, so she slides up the window screen, and tries to look down at the world. There are only purple clouds, though, and the wing covers half her view.
The lighting inside the plane at this hour is dismal, for many of the passengers haven’t yet woken up and raised the blinds. The plane took off 3 hours after midnight, so most of them crumbled into their pillows with understandable ease. Flight attendants come out of the shadows only when they meet the glimmer of a no-smoking sign each 5 feet. She orders a glass of orange juice, since it’s her usual breakfast, and it’s now 6 in the morning. She wouldn’t have if she knew how stale her tongue would feel, and how cold the juice was. It’s better to leave it sitting there, she thinks, I don’t want to go to the restroom, anyway. The rare clouds she can see beneath the metal panels of the wing start to clear up into a wonderful yellow shade. Her expectations were much worse, flying with a sick Brandon for 8 hours, but aside from the mouth-numbing drinks, the experience was resulting quite pleasant.
During the opening announcements by the staff, a charming voice on an intercom said that the lights wouldn’t be turned on until 7:30, so that everyone could get some sleep. She counted the minutes and, after rejecting a tangerine icicle, cuddled up with her son. It was still a long way to go until they could meet with their family in Whitehorse. Grandma’s postcard seemed delighted to see them again after two years. She excused herself in her mind with tales of harshness and real life. Well, grandma, you know we love to visit, but with the divorce, and all… Yes, that would work. Then she began to fall asleep.
∞
Brooks sees the blue light as in dreams. Not fully aware, not fully credulous. Someone who could’ve seen him would’ve praised his cold blood. In fact, that’s what flight engineer Lee did, in his mind. But in truth, he wasn’t calm or collected. He was just skeptical. He knows he has to do something, but it takes him a couple of minutes to remember basic training, let alone the paragraph on the method book about bulkheads. It’s amazing how a man’s concentration is blown to smithereens after two hours of staring into blinking panels. Lee’s hands are sweating already, for he remembers the method book to a tee, and the pages it offers on bulkheads are some of the most frightening reading he’s done. He sits still in his seat however, for it is Brooks’ call to make. The pilot finally looks up at Lee with a mix of smugness and fear in his glance.
“Well, don’t stand there”
Lee leaves the cabin and heads for the rear end of the plane. Nice way of asking, he thinks, but at least he’s doing something. The rear hallway is bounded by a heavy titanium door, which makes a wheezing noise when opened. Like the ones on really enormous freezers. The cold inside is similar too. At the end of the hall lies a padded circle that seals the plane shut. This is the bulkhead. It looks like a perfect spider web. A flawless black and white drawing the way few spiders can actually do. Only the lines standing in front of Lee are not perfect. A crease is threatening to open on the bottom left of the circle, where screws have been loosened. He needs to get the tools.
Now.
As he runs back to the cabin, he notices the floor is beginning to be unstable. Almost like the unperceivable rumble of a beast inside a cave. Not something a mere passenger would notice, but for him it was enough to scratch every nerve in his body with an urgent bite. Brooks was almost startled by the quickness with which he opened the cabinet and grabbed the tool box.
“I’m beginning to lose pressure, what’s going on back there?”
“A line of screws is gone”
“Gone?”
“Yes. On the rear”
Brooks suddenly remembered every single word of his manual. “Hurry up”, he says, lowering his voice gravely as Lee heads back to the hall, stumbling with boxes along the way.
He fumbles for the microphone. This was chilling for him, but at least it wasn’t probable that a passenger knew what the situation meant, and caused a panic outburst. They deserve to know, Brooks thought, even if they won’t understand.
∞
Good morning, sorry to wake you up. This is your captain speaking. We seem to be having slight technical difficulties with the rear end bulkhead. It’s probable that we might experience a turbulence soon, which should stop when our flight engineer finishes the due repairs. In the meantime, as a safety measure, I have turned on the seatbelt lights, and everyone must fasten them as indicated by the crew. I’ll be with you shortly with an update. Keep calm, we’ll get you there.
At least he seems dependable, she thinks, as she fastened Brandon tightly into his seat. What on earth is a bulkhead, anyway? Probably not something very threatening. The word sounds whimsical, almost childish. Everybody seems to be fairly calm, even if it’s just the stagger of the waking. The crew is also firmly nailed into their seats, but they all smile at the passengers with a complicit grin.
Behind the drapes, where her eyes can’t venture, the first class guests, mostly suited men, see no other inconvenience other than their drinks being possibly spilt.
Above, inside the cabin, Brooks wonders what’s taking Lee so long. He was supposed to report back to the cabin with a walkie-talkie when he reached the rear, and that was minutes ago. The blue light flickers, taunting. An awaiting assassin.
Halfway down the hall, Lee crawls on the floor, trying to regain his composure. He slipped and hurt his ankle pretty badly, but he knows a mere joint of his puny body won’t excuse him from the job. Not this once, at least.
Outside, an eagle flies unaware among crystalline, freezing skies.
Then time held still for an instant, right before a mighty fire thunder woke every horror in the 486 souls that flew through the dawning day.