The Midsummer Fair

Chapter 1

[I would be really grateful for any comments/critiques of this, which is the first chapter of a modern fantasy story.  This is not fantasy in the usual sense of the genre, but 'magical realism' didn't exist as a category!  Thank you.]

   The first explosion was more of a whimper than a bang.  It seemed an improbable source of any serious damage, let alone the devastation that was to follow it.

   ‘What the hell was that?’ demanded a deep male voice, slightly slurred from its alcohol-induced slumber.  But the question went unanswered as suddenly, as if by some powerful, irresistible compulsion, every piece of paper, cardboard and plastic, every unguarded item of clothing and personal luggage rose into the air; sluggishly at first, but rapidly gathering momentum.  A maelstrom of cell phones in different colours, shapes and sizes rose and joined in the dance.  Soon larger items like bags and briefcases and even the occasional baby rose up and hurled themselves into the air, until the cabin was alive with a writhing vortex of litter that skimmed and skittered in a frenzied dance along the same, undeviating course.  A woman screamed at the ghostly slight – a young woman, nursing a sleeping infant whose body suddenly stirred and squirmed as if obeying a silent command to break free from its bondage and follow the maenadic dance.  The woman screamed again, frantically clutching her baby to her breast.  Oddly enough, the child never opened its eyes.

   Half way down the central aisle, a blue-uniformed stewardess staggered slowly towards the cockpit, fighting the gravitational pull as she propelled herself onwards using the seat backs as supports.  Her face and hands bled from the impact of the multifarious jettisoning objects.  Before she could reach the front of the cabin, the warning lights were flashing and she saw the panic-stricken passengers grappling in frantic confusion with the dangling oxygen masks.  Those that had managed to hold onto their phones were jabbing buttons, screaming messages of love or appealing for help.  She could offer no help but only cast a despairing look at a colleague wrestling with a safety harness, before filling her lungs with oxygen from spare mask and forging her way to front of the plane as if through a lake of treacle.  She could hear the staccato jumble of voices in front of her now.

   ‘...Mayday...Geneva Centre, this is Trans...’

   ‘Loss pressurisation procedure in...’

The stewardess reached for the pilot’s discarded quick-donning mask and heard an impersonal, metallic-sounding voice on the radio.

   ‘What is the nature of your emergency?’

   ‘Engines...’

   ‘We’ve experienced an inflight explosion and decompression.’

   ‘...flight idle...’

   ‘Request emergency descent.  Repeat, request emergency descent.  Give minimum descent altitudes.’

   ‘...gear and spoilers...’

   ‘Say number of people on board and amount of fuel remaining’ the impassive voice calmly instructed.

   ‘...pressure...’

   ‘Dammit, man!  We’re coming down!’ the pilot spat furiously into his headset microphone.  ‘And heading straight for your fucking tower, so if you’ve got any advice to give – give it!’  But the last words of the pilot’s angry demand were lost in the noise that followed.  The second explosion was much louder.  The aircraft seemed to snap apart like a fragile toy at the mercy of a bad-tempered child.  Burning fragments of metal seared the fleecy clouds.