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I’ve Been Flying for almost Thirty Hours and The Flight Attendants Won’t Stop Crying...
I hit the button to call the flight attendant and spent the next few minutes wracking my brain for a lake that could’ve been possibly been big enough to explain what I was seeing. I jumped when the attendant flipped off the light. She was grinning from ear to ear, and tears were pouring down her cheeks.
“How can I help you sir?” she asked. “I froze for a moment at her reaction before deciding to just ask my question. “Where are we? Why does it look like we’re flying over an ocean?” She wiped her cheeks to clear the tears, still grinning wildly. “Sir, we’ll be landing in about an hour.” “I, uh, OK, thank you,” I said. After she left I checked the clock on my phone again. 4:03 AM blinked back at me. It hadn’t changed. I had to have been waiting with my call light on for at least five minutes. How was it possible that it hadn’t changed at all? I opened up my laptop and saw it too displayed 4:03 AM. I pulled out my phone, started a stopwatch in the app, and spent the next two hours looking back and forth between the clocks, waiting for them to change. They never did. I tapped the shoulder of an older woman sitting in the row ahead of me. She looked back, an annoyed expression across her face. “Yes?” she asked. “Do you know how long until we land?” I asked. She narrowed her eyes. “That flight attendant said it would be about another hour.” I shook my head in confusion. “That flight attendant? We talked almost two hours ago! We should’ve landed already.” She stared at me as if I was crazy. I was going to continue trying to convince her, but I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun to see a male flight attendant grinning down at me, tears pinging off his cheeks onto my shoulder. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to calm down, or I’ll be calling the Captain.” I told him that wouldn’t be necessary and sat back. He removed his hand and stepped away. The flight attendants continued to stop by every few hours offering meals. My stopwatch continued to tick up and is now telling me that I’ve been on this plane for more than thirty hours. I’ve explored all of coach and tried talking to some of the other passengers, but they’ve all told me that they’re expecting to land in an hour or so. Around three hours ago I tried getting into first class. I made it past the curtain but was escorted back by two grinning flight attendants. Their grip on my arms were like iron. “Sir, the seatbelt sign is on,” one said. “Please remain in your seat with your buckle fastened. We’ll be landing in about an hour.” I’d just about given up hope when a woman came down the aisle dressed in a business suit. She didn’t look at me or slow down, but she dropped a piece of paper onto my tray as she made her way to the bathrooms at the back of the plane. I shot a look around before unrolling it. It said, “Are you stuck too?” I pulled out a pen and wrote “Yes. It’s been thirty hours.” I folded the scrap of paper up and set it on the tray closest to the aisle. She left the bathroom and picked it up as she passed. It’s been twenty minutes since then. I don’t know why, but I don’t think the flight attendants would like it if they knew we were talking. It doesn’t matter. I have to do something. I’ll update you all with whatever happens next.
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This all ended in a terrible night of fire, when a small number of men returned after weeks of being gone. Most were badly injured bearing deep scratches and bleeding from their ears and eyes. Only minutes after they collapsed in exhaustion did the darkness begin to flow into the town square from the Forrest, seeming to be chasing the men and daring even our many torches and gaslights to come after them.
I will never forget the monster that then appeared. A tall, gaunt man it seemed. Impossibly thin with long arms and legs that were very hard to distinguish from the trees in which he lurked, watching us. More figures, smaller and more human shaped streamed out of the trees and bushes around him, running towards us like madmen. The events that unfolded are hazy and blurry in my mind, they have always been so. The night came alive with fire all around us as people from my village lit trenches filled with pitch and tar. When dawn finally arrived I do remember looking around in numb horror at the destruction my people had inflicted on the surrounding Forrest, charred rubble and blackened remains of trees stood in stark contrast to the morning gray mist and curling clouds of smoke cast off by fires still burning. No bodies were ever recovered to bury and it seemed like we had won or at least driven off whatever forces that were attacking. Years did pass and no more children were taken and while we as a people were happy of that we remained watchful and ever cautious. A celebration was held on that date, every year since then on the Winter's Solstice, a feast to honor the slain and to show respect for the strange enemy we encountered. Our town elders thought it a happy joke, to begin wearing funny and scary masks during the celebrations, to give a face to the great and tall faceless being we all feared so much. Only after many years did anything out of the ordinary happen again, when soldiers arrived to draft young men for war and build a fortress in our area. Railways were to be built to move supplies and troops for this war. It was on these Railways and trains that the Doctor first arrived." MyDarkJournal Originally Published on Mar 2, 2011 |
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