Dust
No, I won't do it, I won't open my eyes this time. I can't take any more of these stupid games. The air is stagnant, almost stale, as if I'd been thrown into a hidden, unused closet. Or worse, I suppose. There's always worse for me.
But what if this time isn't worse? And besides, it's not like having my eyes closed is really going to save me if it is. Cursing myself and my curiosity, I crack open my left eye. And I see. . .
Nothing. Or rather, nothing important. Instead, it was empty, deserted. As I open my other eye and look more closely, I can tell that everything has a solid layer of dust, as if no one had been here in years. Rows of the same stiff, uncomfortable chairs line the entire hallway, and looking up, I see I had landed at gate B12.
Turning my head even farther, I notice one thing that changes my entire initial impression of this place. The dust was misleading, because if this place had really been abandoned for years, then how could the across at B11 be turned on, displaying a photo of my little girl, "unless this is all another game?".
The speaker overhead crackles to life, and I spring to my feet, ready to run yet again.
Well, well, took you long enough this time, didn't it? Your darling daughter is here somewhere you know, locked in a black suitcase.
Fire burning in my long exhausted muscles, I take off running for what seems like the thousandth time, hoping I can finally succeed, though the mad cackling that follows me from above tells me that I will not. For all I know, she's not even here, yet I can't stop my eyes from frantically scanning for suitcases. I fly past the security checkpoint, miscellaneous abandoned restaurants, and the kiosks before I skid to a halt in baggage claim, my eyes filled with tears.
What had to be thousands of suitcases spun around all fourteen of the carousels, different sizes, but each and every one of them black. More cackling from above, and I sink to my knees, unable to tear my eyes from the circling suitcases. A keening moan escapes my lips as I pitch forward to collapse upon the strangely warm tile floor. The cackling keeps growing louder, filling my ears till I can hear nothing else. But I don't care, I can't care.
Not anymore.
I jerk in my seat as my eyes fly open. Looking around, I see hundreds of other people walking by, or sitting waiting for their flights just as I am. I take a few deep breaths, thankful for once for even the screaming of tired babies. It was just another a dream. Only a dream.
But as I look past my gate, down the rest the concourse, I shudder upon seeing that gate B11 and gate B12 are devoid of people.
I can't help but wonder if there's any dust.
But what if this time isn't worse? And besides, it's not like having my eyes closed is really going to save me if it is. Cursing myself and my curiosity, I crack open my left eye. And I see. . .
Nothing. Or rather, nothing important. Instead, it was empty, deserted. As I open my other eye and look more closely, I can tell that everything has a solid layer of dust, as if no one had been here in years. Rows of the same stiff, uncomfortable chairs line the entire hallway, and looking up, I see I had landed at gate B12.
Turning my head even farther, I notice one thing that changes my entire initial impression of this place. The dust was misleading, because if this place had really been abandoned for years, then how could the across at B11 be turned on, displaying a photo of my little girl, "unless this is all another game?".
The speaker overhead crackles to life, and I spring to my feet, ready to run yet again.
Well, well, took you long enough this time, didn't it? Your darling daughter is here somewhere you know, locked in a black suitcase.
Fire burning in my long exhausted muscles, I take off running for what seems like the thousandth time, hoping I can finally succeed, though the mad cackling that follows me from above tells me that I will not. For all I know, she's not even here, yet I can't stop my eyes from frantically scanning for suitcases. I fly past the security checkpoint, miscellaneous abandoned restaurants, and the kiosks before I skid to a halt in baggage claim, my eyes filled with tears.
What had to be thousands of suitcases spun around all fourteen of the carousels, different sizes, but each and every one of them black. More cackling from above, and I sink to my knees, unable to tear my eyes from the circling suitcases. A keening moan escapes my lips as I pitch forward to collapse upon the strangely warm tile floor. The cackling keeps growing louder, filling my ears till I can hear nothing else. But I don't care, I can't care.
Not anymore.
I jerk in my seat as my eyes fly open. Looking around, I see hundreds of other people walking by, or sitting waiting for their flights just as I am. I take a few deep breaths, thankful for once for even the screaming of tired babies. It was just another a dream. Only a dream.
But as I look past my gate, down the rest the concourse, I shudder upon seeing that gate B11 and gate B12 are devoid of people.
I can't help but wonder if there's any dust.
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