UNTIL THE SUN SETS
I hear the scream of engines dimly through my throbbing, naked ears; I see the sun exploding into life, glazing the vulnerable fuselage in a tender coat of vital white; I feel the reverberations pulse through my body like intricate, sharp static shocks.As I soar into the scentless, innocent air I begin to take in my surroundings; a yellow cabin with carefully-painted feminine faces prancing up and down the pristine aisle. In my close vicinity sit clean-shaven suits alongside handsome females equipped with exuberant children. As I climb higher, transient wisps jolt my progress, sending shivers of tension and embarrassing worry through my spangling, awkward nerves. The higher I climb, the better I can distinguish my plane’s interior: the ‘First Class’ neon sign glitters in glamorous gold, passing a feeling of bashful wonderment through my naïve skin. It does look the part: creamy, leather seats accompanied with an innovative swivel ‘tableau’, and enough space surrounding each seat to allow the user to nonchalantly stretch out his arms and casually pour his drink - even the readily available, potent whisky - onto the creamy plastic floor, without affecting anyone (of importance). The gentleness of the climb calms my taut skin and I finally procure the confidence to gaze towards the sleek woman sitting alongside me, whose legs, during the turbulence, carbonate me, lifting inexorable bubbles through my tickling nerves. Through her half-empty bottle of wine I follow the carefully-rising sun which ruptures the azure sky, with its golden arrows adding to my now bubbling insides as it silhouettes her in a golden haze. Our conversation moves as fluidly as her cigarette smoke, now mixed with the fumes of the ubiquitous alcohol, creating the scent of a traffic jam, and causing me and Jess to throw mincing glances at those clustered behind the cheap, damp ‘Third Class’
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