The Lost Salt Gift of Blood
I woke up to the abrupt motion of the plane touching down almost as if you fell off a ten foot building. The plane began to descend at speed whilst the people around me were frozen with fear. Images of John walking towards me with his fishing rod relapse in my mind. Some part of me wishes I’d bought him back with me to America. I grabbed my luggage from the compartment and headed straight towards the exit not wanting to spend another second in this god forsaken plane. As I walked outside the strangely familiar terminal, I could see little children eagerly waiting for their loved ones. The taste of regret flowed through my mouth. I pulled aside and rummaged through my bag to find a small bottle of water I had received
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I wiped the tears away with my palm and returned to looking out the window. Shortly after, the cab pulled into a parking lot. The diner looked abandoned, pale and grim. The windows were destroyed; shards all over the ground. I lost all feeling in my face, “Here?” I said, wondering whether the cab driver had taken a wrong turn. He looked back, with a smile from one end of his face to another. “I’ll wait outside for you”. I placed one foot onto the cold pavement, rain drops attacking my face. I hurried towards the door, expecting the worst. I pushed on one door gripping my luggage as hard as possible. A combination of water and sweat touching my lips. I felt someone pulling from the other side and I immediately backed away. A short woman wearing a checkered apron greeted me. A look of hostility in her eyes. I cautiously walked inside and seated myself in a cubicle in front of a window. The cracks ran through the window from top to bottom. The woman approached me with a small piece of card. It was the menu. The paper felt gritty, almost as if the menu had been printed on sandpaper. I scanned the menu and looked for the cheapest item. “Tomato soup”, I muttered, still uneased by my surroundings. The woman grabbed the menu and glared at me