She had left it all behind.

It was not just an exaggerated statement, nor the scenario of some lame fantasy novel; she was there, lying sorrowfully against her seat, surrounded by strangers who didn't seem to notice a young girl that wore totally unappropriate clothes for such a cold and faraway destination, curled up like a broken doll somewhere beneath an old, leather jacket. The old curmudgeon next to her was immersed in his economics newspaper, grunting amongst his teeth light curses here and there, and a newly married couple was loudly arguing over some old girlfriend many seats behind. Voices and sounds of a reality long abandoned came to the ears distorted and muffled.

It was cold and uncomfortable. Smells came heavy to the nose, full of life and quotidianity. Occassional air gaps were the only reminders of the female's current situation; alone on an airplane, with none of her personal things, and having informed nobody of the fact.

A sudden impulse, if there is actually a term deep enough to name it. The realisation of the ever-left unspoken; her muscles had moved of their own accord, in virtually no contact with the brain. Year after year after year, thougt after thought, and a simple questionmark was raised to a nasty conglomerate of repressed "why"s. A desperate need of retreat. There was no love. No dream, no aspiration; only the remnants of a childish caprice.

Stop thinking of it. You'll go back, as you always do, and it's a shame.

"Tea or coffee, miss?", the flight attendant's voice. On purpose friendly and unexplainably cheerful right above her head. What did she say? The mind is so hazy and confused by the insane influx of thoughts. Such a waste of wit, such an internal rampage.

But pull yourself together. She's asking you, friggin' tea or coffee?

Eyes flashed open. The hedgehog wrestled with a sad excuse of a smile. "I am fine just like that, thank you". Darn. Your voice woman! Just erase the word "loser" from your face. Laugh. Chatter. Everybody's supposed to be enjoying the American Dream in here, no?

Even though alone, the young woman giggled, fidgeting in her seat in a small querry for comfort.

She knew the answer, and for some reason, it sounded utterly amusing. The elderly male's ice blue eyes instantly gawked at that sudden burst, debouching shyly from the pages of his read. "Are you okay, miss?"

No. "Of course. Thank you. I-I was just thinking of something..." So just please ignore me.

And he returned to the dollar devaluation.

The girl glared at the sour faces of the politicians staring at her through the worn paper, then looked away pondering. Her reaction had been impish and ...well, insane. There are more practical ways to escape a situation and that sure didn't belong to the list.

But he had said...just remind me what had he said? That Ι was being...petulant? Crazy? Sulky? Naïve?

Ah, yes: A real grouch. And downright illogical. Υet, he would always be gone, as though trying to run away from...her? Was it her? She'd never know the answer, she didn't want it. Words made it all the more difficult. The trap was obvious. Stay here. You will be in trouble. I don't need your help. I'll always be there. you.

I have to go. I am sorry.

The recipe. Three much longed for words.

Hope; this time it will be different.

Hurt; gone the next day, leaving her waiting.

And a sad excuse of comfort. We are friends nontheless...right?

Yeah...right. It's okay, Ames. Don't cry. Stop being a grouch and downright illogical and go shine your huge smile to the world.

Pathetic. The world that swirled in her head through all that time. She had tried to scare it away, but it would just stay there, relentless and excruciating, with the tiniest of intentions to let go. Deep inside, she feared this would last for an eternity; deep inside, she knew she was pathetic; the situation the pink female had dragged herself into was passionately against every parameter of causality.

Nobody else turns back every single time.


Nobody devotes their life to something, just to realise it's devouring them from the inside out.


And every time it ended she realised there was nothing else to do anymore. The only option was to start all over again. For she hadn't predicted that outcome. Because, as much without the star of the scene the movie couldn't be made, even greater was the impossibility of it to get done in his presence; they had raised it to a shared internal ritual.

What a waste of time. What a sacred vicious circle.


Suddenly, a heart-ceasing, resounding thump, and they all flinched in their seats. Then another one: more disarming: more crude and rough. And the slight, vexated movement turned to convulses forward, screams, whispered prayers. Third one: hostesses fled, their gentle and calm way, gloved palms touching shoulders in consolation. Everything's fine. It's jut yet another air gap. It'll be okay.


As if from the depths of a dream, the female could hear the disheartening sobs of a little child. Nothing more deeming, nothing more mind-shattering than that. Mom, what 's wrong?

Silence. Despite the general commotion, a deadly acoustic harmony took over exactly at that exclamation, defying whispers and voices. You'd tell the Universe automatically held its breath, stopped and stared. Time and space frozen, petrified.

Yet another question unanswered. So much fuss, so much contemplation. What a stab to the heart of silence.

Is anyone in here a doctor? Please, we need a doctor. I can do nothing. Her heart has stopped.

Crude dread overcame it all, a nightmarish gleam in wide open eyes. Thump. Jolt. Then another thump, to be straightly followed by another jolt. Flight attendants could smile no further. Nothing could epitomize their current status better, but four words.


Death. She could almost see the term floating in the air, though nobody actually phrased it in human syllabes. What to say, who to protect? There were things to be confessed, forgiveness to be asked for. Mistakes, feelings, mere thoughts, dear persons left behind. All of themselves they had tried to conceal behind what we call human civilisation nothing more than a mask on the floor.

Amy Rose the hedgehog had always been a cheerful optimist, yearning to enjoy every single drop of life; being the type of persons that just leave the present and simply equivocate to themselves when it comes to what happens tomorrow, death was a perspective she had never thought of.

And, like many people that had ignored mortality in the past, she was now breathless, heart pounding madly beneath the ribcage, limbs numb and unmoving.

She thought of the dreams she wouldn't fulfil.

She thought of her friends.

She thought that she hadn't yet seen her life pass in front of her eyes, like corny romance books had always claimed things to happen.

And that was it; the last grain of sand reached the bottom. They were falling. There was no tomorrow, and for an insane second it seemed like there had been no yesterday. Fear left, and peace filled the soul. Maybe that was the only solution from the beginning, after all.

You won't have to worry now.

It became dark. Thoughts expired.

The falling wouldn't stop.



Even if this story was grueling or uninteresting to you, please let me know. Even if your review is a single word, it will actually help me improve and find out what's wrong with my writing.