Burning Moon (Wattpad Version)

Chapter 3

I don't love flying.

There's nothing normal about being forty thousand feet above sea level in a glorified sardine can.

I have two main fears, really. Firstly, that we'll simply fall out of the sky and plummet to our grizzly deaths, and secondly, that when we land the breaks will fail and we'll go thundering into a building, burst into flames and blow up -- of course, it doesn't help that I've seen the exact same thing unfold on a TV show about plane crashes. 

But this never happens. (Touch wood.)

But what does always happen, is that the split-second the plane comes into contact with the ground, people jump up, practically leap and throw themselves at the storage compartments for the start of the great bag jostle. I've never understood the urgency. I noticed that a few of them look positively desperate; I suspected they were the smokers who would've sold their souls to Satan for half a cigarette. I didn't feel physically strong enough to fight for my bag or stand in line for ten minutes while I waited for the doors to open, so I just sat there. Goth Guy was already up and I wanted to say something to him, but he was too far away.

The interior of the airport was surprising, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I certainly hadnât imagined such an impressive, modern building. I glanced at the clock on the wall and reset my watch to local time. A hotel shuttle was fetching me in an hour and a half; so I had plenty of time to get my bags, go through customs and maybe even squeeze in some duty free shopping. Things were looking up, but then I got to the luggage carousel.

What is it about airports that make people lose all sense of propriety, politeness, patience and any thing else that resembles a manner? People shoved, they pushed, they elbowed each other and they acted as if getting their bag one second before the guy next to them was more important than finding a cure for cancer. I saw Damian through the marauding crowd, and knew that this would be my last chance to say something to him.

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey!" I smiled apologetically. "I never got a chance to thank you for helping me with the Coke." I was trying to find an indirect way of saying it without causing more offense.

"No prob." He looked at me again with those black eyes; they really were startling. "I'm sorry for walking away like that, I just didn't expect that." 

I jumped in. "No, I'm sorry. That was out of line, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. You just caught me off guard. It's not something I usually talk to people about."

His candour surprised me and I was about to say something about his right to privacy when five security guards interrupted us. I smiled at them, but they didn't look friendly. In fact, they circled like vultures around a carcass. I had a very bad feeling about this.

"Can I see your passports?"The guy with a face like a bulldog asked.

I pulled mine out immediately and handed it over, but Damian objected.

"This is so typical. It's discrimination. I'm not giving it to you."

What was he talking about? Was I missing something? I looked from him to the Bulldog and back again.

Bulldog growled, "Give me your passport." His eyes blazed with aggression.

Damian stared back at him indignantly, "No."

The tension was building and the other vultures stepped forward, pecking at us with their evil eyeballs.

"What's going on?" I was suddenly very nervous.

Damian turned to me, "What's going on here is a clear case of ignorance and discrimination." 

"But they're just asking for our passports," I offered.