TITLE: Raptor Snatch
GENRE: Women's fiction
The window smells like sweet vomit with a hint of pine scented ammonia. I was queasy before I boarded the plane, my stomach full of overcooked bacon and undercooked eggs. My attempts to drown them in coffee as bitter as my ex solved nothing. The window's stench is like aromatherapy gone horribly, horribly wrong. I swallow hard and breathe shallowly.
Blending with the puke scented aroma of the window on my right, is the smell of the man sitting on my left. Stale sweat, stale cigarette smoke, stale coffee breath, I wonder if his life is as stale as he smells. Even his suit looks defeated, the fabric worn thin on his elbows and knees, the material becoming shiny where the rest of him is dull.
I'm keeping my face in the sweet spot. Facing directly forward, the smell of the man and the window cancel each other out and my nostrils are safe. I am in the eye of the smell. From the eye of the smell I can see a chip in the plane's windshield. The longer I look at it the more reassured I feel; our plane has already taken a kick to the face by the elements and survived. It can pull through again. I hope. Oh God we're going to crash! Just my luck to fly through a flock of geese, crash and die just when I'm trying to live again. Maybe it's just bird shit? Best not to think about it.