Creative Writing


I miss every flight in my dreams.

Up and down Escher entwined escalators I drag massive suitcases stacked on breaking wheels. On top of the wobbling pile, my cat cries in his box.

Fluorescent lights amp up in buzzing crescendo as my control fades. Starch-collared guards with shining guns and narrowed eyes watch me drop everything on the floor.

The frantic gap of opportunity transforms into the sickness of lost chance as FINAL CALL flips to DEPARTED and I realise I wasn't significant enough to be called over the intercom, to be noticed, to have anyone care.

I could be soothed by the cathedral acoustics in this empty departure hall if only I were permitted to scream.

My mother cries when she says goodbye every single time and now I must return her wasted tears pooled in my ineffective hands, re-inflict my double-edged presence in the place that's no longer my home.

Photo by Safwan Mahmud on Unsplash

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