She falls asleep to the sound of flight announcements. "Flight 302 to Atlanta, now leaving through gate 12." Her eyes grow heavy even in the glare of fluorescent lights left on 24 yours a day, seven days a week. The air-conditioned terminal, peopled with aloof, cold stares, sends a chill down her spine, but under a borrowed jacket left carelessly on the chair beside her she snuggles against the hard, blunt curves of the seat sections and finally succumbs to the warmth of weariness.
She dreams of going home, returning to the place where she began. She doesn't remember much of the first five years of her life, but imagines the security of thumb sucking, a soft, enveloping lap, and smiles of joy at her presence. Believing heart-felt wishes doesn't make them so, but gives her something to cling to in the dark. Later years are not so blissfully remembered; harsh voices, sad faces, and fury at fate, finding its release in lashing out at the one once enveloped in love.
The dream is always the same… She's twelve again, tall and lanky, standing before the exit doors of an airport terminal, a battered red suitcase at her side. The doors slide open and shut as people move in and out, their eyes closed to her ambivalence, their faces impassive to her predicament.
She pushes a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear and looks down at her bag. A sticker on the side reads: HOME. Another bluntly states she's reached the: POINT OF NO RETURN.
She scrunches her eyes shut as though to hold in the pain, but one tear creeps slowly through her lashes and forms a salty path downward, dripping on the handle of her suitcase of dreams. She grasps the handle firmly and lifts the bag easily.
Her struggle is much lighter than she thought it would be. She smiles and takes a step forward toward the doors that open and shut, her final destination a wish for a return to that lap of comfort and unconditional love.
But a hand reaches out and pulls her back, the fingers digging into the flesh of her thin arm with nebulous portent. Would those arms embrace her after all this time, it asks in desperation?
She jerks awake and sits up, eyes darting all around for the hand that pulled her back. But the waiting section around her is nearly empty. She places the jacket back on the seat beside her and bites her lip, wondering why the man never returned. The plush glove leather is certainly worth remembering on a blustery day like today. But perhaps he was flying south where a coat would be an encumbrance.
His ticket pokes from a side pocket and she slides it out. Destination: Minneapolis. That would put her just twelve miles from home. She pulls her own ticket from her back jeans pocket, now crumpled and bent with her form. All her remaining money is wrapped up in this envelope. A ticket to nowhere, away from here, somewhere she can belong. At twenty-one that place is still undiscovered. But perhaps what she is searching for is … HOME. She slips her ticket in the man's pocket and walks away with her suitcase dream.
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Comments: 22
Brandon - I hope it wasn't one of your novels :)
First: be wary of LONG sentences. Look for them and break them down if you can. Shorter sentances are more powerful and less tiring on the reader. you wrote: "The air-conditioned terminal, peopled with aloof, cold stares, sends a chill down her spine, but under a borrowed jacket left carelessly on the chair beside her she snuggles against the hard, blunt curves of the seat sections and finally succumbs to the warmth of weariness." Try this instead: "The air-conditioned terminal, peopled with aloof, cold stares, sends a chill down her spine. She snuggles under a borrowed jacket left carelessly on the chair beside her. She leans into the hard, blunt curves of the seat sections and finally succumbs to the warmth of weariness."
Second - consider shortening paragraphs. This also makes reading easier and adds power to the writing. EXAMPLE:
"The dream is always the same… She's twelve again, tall and lanky, standing before the exit doors of an airport terminal, a battered red suitcase at her side. The doors slide open and shut as people move in and out, their eyes closed to her ambivalence, their faces impassive to her predicament.
She pushes a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear and looks down at her bag. A sticker on the side reads: HOME. Another bluntly states she's reached the: POINT OF NO RETURN. She scrunches her eyes shut as though to hold in the pain, but one tear creeps slowly through her lashes and forms a salty path downward, dripping on the handle of her suitcase of dreams.
She grasps the handle firmly and lifts the bag easily. Her struggle is much lighter than she thought it would be. She smiles and takes a step forward toward the doors that open and shut, her final destination a wish for a return to that lap of comfort and unconditional love.
But a hand reaches out and pulls her back, the fingers digging into the flesh of her thin arm with nebulous portent. Would those arms embrace her after all this time, it asks in desperation?"
Same paragraph you had, broken into multiple paragraphs. See how it adds power?
Third - switching tickets is not logical for flights, since they match the name on your ticket to your identification. Consider changing to a train station instead?
You have a great start here, Barbara, and I truly think you have talent. A lot of the things I am telling you are things I have learned not too long ago myself. I hope this helps, and if you want any additional help just let me know!
Great take on suitcase dreams!
Johnny, I appreciate your thoughts also. I think some longer sentences placed properly are necessary to the flow also.
Edward, Thanks for reading. I always enjoy your work and am glad you liked mine.
I like it just the way it is by the way...
To weigh in on sentence length, I happen to like the sentence Monica cited. Although I agree too many long sentences are a dangerous thing, the same is true with short sentences. It's all about rhythm and sound. In the privacy of my study where no one can wonder about my sanity, I always read aloud my stuff to "hear" if the sentences blend the right way. In my experience, you pick up more that way than by just reading silently. Your ears are harsher critics than your eyes when it comes to your own writing, in other words.