I hate planes.
My life is in the hands of a robotic, self-driving pilot. If one thing goes wrong, we'll die from that one mistake before the flu takes us.
The East Florida Airport towers above me, daring me to go in. My aunt pulls me into a tight embrace, before sending me off to Northern California for my grandparents' funeral. For some reason, my gut is telling me I won't be seeing my aunt for awhile. I shake the feeling and face her. Her blonde hair barely touches the waistband of her coat. Only twenty-one. When her hair is down, I can see just how young she really is. She was only nineteen, barely a teen, barely an adult, when she took me in. Because of me, she had to give up every ounce of immaturity to raise a thirteen year old orphan.
"It'll only be a week" I assure her. Ever since my parents' accident, we have been inseparable.
"I'll call you everyday and make sure you tell everyone at the funeral that I'm sorry I couldn't be there myself. If you have ANY symptoms of sickness call me immediately." Her brown eyes consumed with guilt and concern.
"I will." I give her one last hug and I walk in; it's 6 am. Two hours early.
The idea of airports are truly intimidating. A destination anywhere around the world willing to show individuals the secrets of time and life. I rub my worn silver ring, a habit I should break. It was the last thing my parents ever gave to me, so I haven't taken it off hoping it'll bring me luck, bad or good.
My aunt and I didn't have enough money for two round tickets, so it's just me. I know how upset she is, given that they are her parents, but she insisted I would be the one to go.
I head to the sanitation stations flocked by giant men and women patrolling who goes in and who goes out, as if the size of them could stop infection. The stations were created by brilliant scientists, like my parents, to stop the spread of sickness. If it weren't for them, every person in this airport would be infected and have three months max, to live out their last days. The human body has done the opposite of evolve, so fragile that the wrong germ can trigger a fatal autoimmune disease.
Beyond the sanitation stations, planes fly out overheard into the cloudy gray sky, every take off sounding like an explosion. I stare in a suspended face of wonder, wanting to know what it feels like to fly.