Posted Wednesday June23
Trussed into tiny spaces, we sit shoulder to shoulder in the cramped cabin. The crew impassively perform their emergency ritual, arms flailing hither and thither. The mighty engines roar. I am pressed against my seat as the giant silver bird thunders and shudders down the runway, then quiet calm as we climb skyward leaving my stomach below.
Steeply banking, the plane stands on a wingtip. I stare down at a monopoly of shrinking streets below. Higher and higher we soar. Wisps of clouds rush by my window then shafts of brilliant sunlight illuminate the cabin.
‘A gin and tonic please’
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host is Rochelle and the photo prompt is supplied by Rich Voza