Flying

Hubert sat in the airport, staring at the planes as they took off and landed. Each one was a risk, Hubert knew, but not a huge one. Planes took off and landed all the time. Still, it didn’t look any less dangerous.

He was waiting for his first flight, ever. Hubert had tried very hard to stay in the same part of the same city of the same province. He left only when necessary, usually by car, or bus, or, once, by train. Flying was terrifying.

To get to the island, though, could only be done by air, and Hubert swallowed his worries. Now he stood, watching the planes. His flight didn’t leave for four more hours – “Awful early,” the clerk at the counter had remarked some three hours previous – but he was there, on time, acclimatizing himself to the brusque gate-keepers, haughty business types, screaming children.

Hubert heard the pinging of the intercom system. Another passenger was being beckoned. He sighed and looked back out the window, watching another plane take off. Worrying if his flight would be okay.

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