Cruel World
by
John R Morgan
She is suspended several thousand feet in space, and she is terrified.
Maddy clutches at the cobalt blue armrest next to the plane window,
digging her nails deep into the fabric, trying not to let out a squeal,
trying not to give out any sign of abnormality.
She has been scared before, sometimes the lads at Black Street could
be intimidating, but she has never felt this fever, this monstrous
overbearing that is striking her now. Even when she had been
mugged for her laptop passing through Charing Cross, she had felt
more bewildered and tinged with sadness.
She can hear the air steward passing down the aisle, dispensing G
and T’s to the gaggle of harridans sat a few rows in front.
I must pretend to be asleep.
She forces her eyelids together, and twists her head towards the
window. She can feel her chest panting and cleaves her tongue to the
roof of her mouth to slow the intake of breath.
“Would you like a drink? Sir? Madam?”
NO THANK YOU.
The voice scrapes and forces its way into her head, a screeching,
violent cacophony that makes her gums bleed. She clasps her lips
tightly shut and prays, prays that nobody notices her discomfort. It
isn’t him, she tells herself, not coherently but with a pressing force.
That is not the man I am sat beside.`
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