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flash story
there isnt one
Chapter 1: airport games Barely a high school graduate I managed to land a front desk job at the airport. It was hardly the job I had envisioned for myself, but acquiring money for college was my main priority. I mean the job wasn’t so bad, there were people interaction and people watching.
It wasn’t difficult either. It was mostly pointing lost people towards their next gate or the nearest restroom. I checked flight times and seat availability too. If there was a concern or a complaint I called for a manager, someone who was qualified to get them the help that they needed.
Between major flights when I was of no use at all I would sit and watch the people. One time I created this game where I would set my eyes on one of the flyers and learn as much about them as I could in 10 seconds. Things like the clothes they wore, the amount of luggage they had, the way they looked, talked, spoke, and if they were with someone or alone. The most interesting ones where from the arrivals section. There was always a love affair or a high-class quarrel going on.
The next major flight doesn’t get in till 10:30, I think I’ll play around now. I scanned the area, stopping at my favorite spot in arrivals. A man in an old black trench coat with a long white beard and a bowler hat was patiently waiting on the bench twiddling his thumbs.
This was the man that was waiting for his son to come home from overseas. He waited there quietly, looking up to see a passerby from time to time. I bet he’s really bored. The clock on the desk clicked to 10:30 and not a minute later the area was swamped with people arriving from Chicago. When the rush Died down the man stood and left. He was alone when he left. I hoped that nothing was wrong but continued my game anyway
For the next several weeks I played this game. Every week I noticed the man return to the same spot on the bench. Every time he would get up and leave right after the 10:30 rush.
Curious and suspicious of this man I approached him. He tilted his chin up so that he could see me and said hello. His voice was raspy and exactly the way I had imagined it. I asked
“Hello, Are you looking for someone”?
“No”
“I’ve noticed you hanging around here for the last couple of weeks”
“That is a good observation, boy”
“If you are not looking for anyone then are you waiting for someone”?
“Yes”
“Oh. Might I ask you, who are you waiting for”?
In that raspy old man voice of his, he leans in and whispers
“you”.
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