A Collection of Fables

ThoughtJacked (Mature)

        'Celebrating 50 years.' Said the massive banner, decorated with gold and silver thread, in the airport lobby. I rushed to the ticket desk, my head swimming with thoughts about what I would do after I arrived in the Bahamas for my business trip. Anything to escape the bitter cold of a Canadian winter. I handed the man my passport. 'Damian Waters.' He said. 'Better get a new passport soon, expires in a month.' I looked at the expiry date. 04/15/73. I grabbed my freshly-printed ticket and hauled my ancient leather suitcase onto the desk.

        'See you.' I waved goodbye, adjusted the strap on my carry-on and headed for the escalator. I cautiously stepped off the escalator, making sure nothing from my fraying business suit was caught in the workings of it. I was always paranoid about these things. I stood idly by in the security line, only to catch a glimpse of a tall man in a black coat wearing a suspicious expression on his face. I simply looked away and continued to the desk. 'Top of the morning to you.' I mumbled, dropping my backpack into a bucket while de-lacing my boots. I put my worn-out work boots into the plastic tray and slid it down to the conveyor belt.

        'Please go through.' The security worker said, uninterested. I stepped through the metal archways with its mesmerising blinking lights and shiny finish. It beeped and blinked, and I held my breath. Green. I sighed with contempt, knowing that I had not accidentally left something in my pocket, leading to yet another scan or worse, and interrogation. I hated those. Small room, having to talk to people, the thought of missing my flight. Happened more often than you would think. I had this awful habit of leaving stuff in my pockets. Coins, keys, knives, you name it, I probably left it in my pocket one time or another. I snatched my bag and slid on my shoes, not bothering to lace them. I looked at my ticket. Flight 121912 for Nassau, 03/12/73, 5:47. I glanced at my watch. Crap. The plane was departing in 10 minutes. I ran, my carry-on backpack bouncing on my shoulder and my hair slowly undoing all of the work I had done to it that morning.

        'Hey. You.' I tripped, falling to the ground. I tried to locate the voice that had just addressed me. 'Yeah. You.' I jumped to my feet, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. It was the tall man from the Security check. He thrust a briefcase into my chest. 'Take this. Keep it with you. Give it to me on the plane.' I looked down at its scuffed faux leather surface. I glanced back up to where the man used to be. He was gone. I looked at my watch again. 7 minutes. Back at the suitcase. It had to be contraband. It just had to be. But it went through security. But it had to be illegal. Why else would he give it to me? I ran to the terminal, where people were already boarding. The man was nowhere to be found. I handed the woman at the desk my ticket and my passport. She stamped them and handed them back to me and smiled. I glanced down at the briefcase. It had to be contraband! 'Um... Madam, I found this. I think it's contraband.' She took the bag.

        'No, sir.....' I continued onto the plane. I sighed in relief. I was pleased with myself that I had done a good thing. I sat down just as the plane began to taxi away from the airport. I put on my headphones and attempted to drown the stressful past few minutes in the sound of rock music. I closed my eyes and tried to drift off despite the roar of the jet engine. The crash of the aeroplane's wheels shocked me back awake, and I sat bolt upright. I bent down and took a piece of chewing gum from my bag, unwrapped it and popped it into my mouth. I then lay back in my chair and attempted to fall back asleep. I slowly drifted off into unconsciousness, lulled by the now somewhat comforting engine's roars. An indistinguishable amount of hours passed me by as I slept, no longer worried about anything, simply looking forward to the crystal waters and clear, warm weather of Nassau. It never even occurred to me that I was there for business. My eyes slowly fluttered open to see the tall man from the airport standing next to me in the aisle.

        'Where's the damn bag?' He shouted at me. It took me a few seconds to fully realise what was going on. 'Umm..' I said, fidgeting, 'I gave it to airport security. It was clearly contraband, you criminal.' He stood, stunned, for a few seconds. Instantly, he closed his hands around my neck. I gagged. 'You bastard! I trusted you with that package! How could you give it to those... People!?' I had no idea about anything he was saying. How did he trust me with it? Who were the "people"? I was extremely confused. I grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from my neck. 'Please. Explain to me what you're talking about.' 'You know as well as I do, Damian.' He said, tears forming in his eyes, 'You've killed us.' He walked away. I was stunned. I just stared forward, my brain churning to process what it had just witnessed. Who was he? It was about ten minutes later that a lady pushing a refreshments cart came to my seat. I expected her to simply take my order, but she leant over and whispered into my ear.