Short Story Competition 2 (Jude) - VOTE HERE!

pickarooney

During the month of April, we asked boardsies to come up with a short story of no longer than 1000 words, based on a brief outline.

Jude sits on a plane, midflight. In Jude's jacket pocket is a piece of paper containing details that will change Jude's life forever. The plane's intercom pings and the captain makes an announcement...

For more details on the competition itself, please see here.

There are thirteen entries this time around and a much wider variety of story, so we would ask that as many of you as possible read the whole lot and give the authors as much feedback, positive or negative but above all constructive, as you can.

Once again, the stories will be posted anonymously and the winner revealed after voting closes, at around 10 AM on Monday 10th May. You may vote for as many stories as you like, all we ask is that you give a reason for your vote in the form of a post on this thread.

Voting is public, and votes without a post in the thread will be ignored.

Best of luck to all involved and thanks in advance to those who take the time to read and rate the entries.

pickarooney

Version 11

Jude stroked the liver-coloured blotch on her cheek. The paediatrician had told her parents at birth that this was nothing to worry about. The mark, the result of some debris that had attached itself to her in the uterus and never let go, made Jude self-conscious. She also thought it shocking that only her face was affected by errant fragments from her time in the womb. She had been born physically intact, despite Dominic’s best efforts.

The Honourable Dominic McCaffrey was thorough and discrete, always. Any marks on Ellen’s body had been easily explained. She fainted in the early stages of her pregnancy. She was a timid, fluttering woman, easily spooked. It was not surprising that she bumped into things or fell down. Although everyone was concerned that the child would be ok, they were no more concerned than they usually were for Ellen’s safety.

Ellen had a photograph in a frame on her dressing table. In it she was young, on a loveseat outside The Damascus in Carleton, during her first summer in America. It was summertime and she was dressed for a party. She looked partially over her shoulder and was shy of the camera. Jude loved Ellen best in this photograph. This Ellen was a person who might have options, opinions, a future. This shy, pretty girl in the expensive tea dress was not yet the victim Jude hated, unable to defend herself.

Jude had always been afraid of Ellen. Her weakness, with its simpering complicity in all of Dominic’s whims, made her a liability in Jude’s eyes. Her birthmark thrummed. She loosened the seatbelt slightly and tried to wriggle into a more comfortable sleeping position. The miniature pillow provided by the airline was rough. It smelled greasy and warm, like someone else’s hair. She had brought her own blanket but forgot her pillow. She would have to buy one in the airport, before her connecting flight.

Jude slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket, just to touch the paper and prove it was still there. She did not need to see it. She could quote every word on the embossed document. A copy had been forwarded to the hospital near her new apartment months ago, but she brought the original with her for safety. Things like paperwork could not be left to chance when her prescriptions would need to be filled every month. Her psychiatrist had advised she hand the original in at her new doctor’s office within a few days of landing. Dr. Clare had said her new doctor, Dr. Jansen, was an old colleague and would be happy to undertake her care.

Jude felt some sorrow at leaving everything behind. She would miss few people – Dr. Clare and Penelope immediately, Joseph as time passed – but she would miss routines, collecting the post each morning at 9 from the box, returning to her apartment, addressing any urgent business and going to the bank. She would miss organising the rota for the children’s hour at the library on a Wednesday. The fragments of her old life floated around her, like more debris trapped in the amniotic fluid surrounding her life which might stick to her skin.

She had never told Ellen about her consultation with the plastic surgeon at 16 in the hope that she could get her birthmark removed. He had advised that she leave it as it was. Any scarring as a result of the mark’s removal would be worse than the mark itself. His advice had a hollow echo which reverberated through her life at the moment. If she had left things alone she would not be on this plane now, listening to stupid announcements about turbulence and caution when opening the overhead bins as the seatbelt lights were turned off. “We’re not idiots!” she muttered, under her breath. Once again Jude shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Being in the aisle seat had its advantages, she thought, as the passenger at the window lifted the blind.

Above the clouds, the sun was almost blinding. The clouds beneath looked quilted, a solid patchwork of cotton balls in different hues. Jude drew a breath as the unexpected light hit her face. She pressed the call button and asked for a bottle of sparkling water. The miniature container was placed on her tray theatrically with a plastic cup the size of a thimble. She smiled insincere thanks and cracked the seal on the bottle, swallowing the entire contents in one long draught. Before the hostess could leave she asked for another and drank it almost as quickly, pausing only to take her medication. As soon as she landed in Birmingham and settled herself into the apartment she would locate her doctor and hand over the letter. Its heavy paper weighed her down, she could almost feel a limp on her left side as she walked with the burden hovering over her heart.

The captain made a further announcement. They were coming in to land in Heathrow, everyone was to ensure their seatbelts were securely fastened for the descent. Jude toyed with the idea of leaving her seatbelt open, to see what might happen. Her hands closed the clasp before she could tell them not to. Ellen would have been proud, as she always was when Jude managed to get something right. As the plane descended Ellen felt her head get lighter. She wondered if it was a combination of the dropping altitude and her medication beginning to take effect. Whatever the reason, the feeling was rather pleasant and Jude was not keen to lose it. She wondered if this was how things had felt for Ellen at the end, as the drugs kicked in and she began to slip away.

Jude breathed deeply, exhaling through her lips to fight the tears. Ellen had always been the victim, for as long as Jude had known her. She had carried Jude despite Dominic’s best efforts. She had always protected her little girl from his furies. In the end all Jude could do was hold her hand and watch her slip away. Jude was furious – that Ellen had abandoned her, and that she had spent so much time hating Ellen for not being a perfect TV-style mom while Ellen spent all her energy hiding Jude from Dominic’s rage.

The plane touched down with a little bump. Some passengers cheered and clapped. Jude touched her birthmark again, then rubbed her damp fingers on the hem of her blanket to dry them. The lady beside her turned to her and made a vague comment about the relief of being on solid ground again. Jude nodded and smiled. She was finally bringing Ellen home.

pickarooney

Version 11

Gadsby's Flight

According to Air Command, Jud Gadsby was a Group Captain. Today, though, that didn't count. For this trip, Gadsby was guarding cargo. "Just buy two civilian boarding stubs,” his unit’s supply official had a told him. “Privacy is your only worry, and its all Air Marshal Gorn wants too. This can’t hit Fritz until London says so.”

So BA224 was officially a civilian flight.

Gadsby bit a chunk of his bland ham sandwich from its wax wrapping, and sank back into his hard aircraft chair. It was an awkward fit - too tight for his broad build. Still, this was his first trip on a civilian aircraft, and with just half an hour until landing, it would do.

As a policy, Gadsby took minimal comforts. Following his thirty-third birthday and a blind fortnight's hard drinking, Gadsby had spat an oath to find no such succor again. No doubt, that was part of why Air Marshal Gorn had said Gadsby was right for this mission. No comfort, no slip-ups. What Gorn hadn’t known was that Gadsby had sworn his oath prior to falling for Dr. Mary Wright.

Dr. Wright's job was with GlasLing, a major linguistics school, running its high priority study group from an island off Scotland's north coast. This mission was a final pay-off for that group's work. Owing to St. Kilda's isolation, Gadsby, a Royal Flying Corps Group Captain, had stood as GlasLing's military liaison for six months.

For two months, Gadsby had also stood as Dr. Wright's suitor.

Right now, his consort was off looking for a bathroom, so Gadsby ran through his mission again. Fly from St. Kilda to London; visit Winston Churchill with Dr. Wright; bring him information so vital it could adjust world history in an instant.

Child’s play.

Said information now lay in a folio, sitting in Gadsby's carry-on bag. Guarding it was his main focus for today, but it was not his only focus. His civilian pilot had said arrival at London-Kidlington Airport was at half two. If Dr. Wright's confab with Churchill was satisfactory, Gadsby would book into a Hilton Spa Inn by six, for two day's paid vacation.

Gadsby took a look around and saw his companion coming back. Dr. Wright was a young-looking thirty-two, with a voluptuous body and long curly hair. Blocking Gadsby from two nights of passion with this woman was his task of handing off that information.

"Did you find it?" Gadsby said, as Dr. Wright sat back down.

"I found it. I had to wait a bit, though. Did you think about what I said?"

"I did..."

Prior to going looking for a bathroom, Dr. Wright had sought to show him what was in his carry-on bag.

“A manila folio,” Gadsby had said, "I know."

“And in that folio?”

“It has Top Classification. I don't want any additional information.”

Following this, Dr. Wright had slid across to his chair, and sang a titillating, arousing song for him. Command’s folio could not go public, but now that Dr. Wright was back, nor could Gadsby spurn his consort.

His hand thrust into his carry-bag, into its manila folio, and slowly brought out a thin cut of card. “Oh, Jud!” Dr. Wright said, finding that Gadsby was finally willing to look. A slow, broad grin wound its way across his companion’s full lips.

"So, this information... You said it could adjust world history?" Gadsby said, biting his gums and avoiding looking at Dr. Wright's card.

Drops of liquid slid down his brow, as conflicting thoughts ran through his mind. Command had not told him what information was on it, but nor had GlasLing stuck his folio shut.

“Look at that card, Jud."

Air Group training told him that just looking at this information was risking his job, but his consort's ardour was contagious. No opposition would stand, and Gadsby soon found his misgivings fading. His lips still shook with worry, though.

"Within six months, all humanity will probably know anyway," Dr. Wright said.

A flitting palpitation took hold in his gut.

"Is this a gag, Mary?" Gadsby said, looking down at GlasLing's card.

Without warning, his consort burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?”

"Its no gag, Jud. In fact, my group sank thirty-four months into making it."

"Your symbol, your card. Its... absurd."

Halfway up this cryptic card, a long, angular symbol was drawn in thick black ink. An upright bar lay at its margin, with a trio of short horizontal bars moving right from its top, bottom and halfway points. It was unknown to Gadsby, though distantly familiar, as if from a vision.

Gadsby put it down, and took his hand back angrily.

Clasping a hand against his arm, Dr. Wright slid forward. It was as if hours swam past in an instant. Gadsby's brow knit in confusion and worry. His focus was on his consort’s hand, his jaw was firm and his frown tight.

"I'm sorry, Jud. I... I thought you'd want to know."

"Know what? How this symbol looks?"

"Its an amazing thing, and I vow it’s not a gag, or a scam."

"So how will it aid Churchill?" Gadsby said, wringing his hands, wishing his will had withstood Dr. Wright's vivacity. "How will this symbol transform our world?"

"Trust your doctor, Jud. It will"

Dr. Wright said nothing as a frown shot across Gadsby's brow.

"Jud, do you want to know it all?"

"No," Gadsby said, truthfully, and slid Dr. Wright's card back into its folio.

His companion saw this and took him at his word. "Its my magnum opus, Jud. Its a symbol which was missing, for who knows how long, and now its back. It will modify our words, and our world, now and for always." Still smiling, his consort sat back, and gradually sank all scrutiny into an in-flight journal. Gadsby cast his focus through a round aircraft window, lost in thought.

At last, an alarm rang, and a man – probably that civilian pilot, broadcast landing instructions to all patrons: trays upright, straps on. Flight BA224 to London-Kidlington Airport would land soon, Gadsby thought, and by hook or crook, his truth, and Dr. Wright's truth would out.

And who could say; it might just transform his world.

pickarooney

Version 11

Luck

I checked my jacket pocket once again, to make sure it was still there. It was of course. Not even an idiot would lose a cheque worth 600 billion dollars. I still had no idea how I’d spend all that money – the endless possibilities. I always wanted to live in a castle though, so I guess that’s number one on the list. I was so engrossed in thoughts of my new fortune that I barely noticed when the pilot announced that we were about to hit turbulence. I didn’t even care – only a bit of turbulence, completely normal, but when it hit people started screaming. I hardly had a chance to react when I was lunged forward into the seat in front of me. Darkness...

I opened my eyes, but didn’t know where the hell I was. It took me a few minutes to get a hold of my bearings. Hospital – how did I end up here? I was trying to piece together events in my head when a young doctor walked in. Her draw dropped in shock when she saw me awake – obviously she wasn’t expecting that. How long had I been here? It took awhile for me to get answers, but eventually I had been told everything I needed to know.
My plane had crashed. Everyone had died. Yes everyone – even me. Four days dead to be precise, but it seems when you’re worth 600 billion, death is merely a minor obstacle...

Bringing someone who had been dead for four days back to life was not an easy procedure though, especially when they had been decapitated. However, they managed to get most of my vital organs working. The brain was not quite as responsive as everything else though and needed more time to heal. A lot more time – just about 500 years actually, biologically frozen to prevent aging – thawed once every five years for necessary tests. It was during one of these tests that I had woken. The doctors were beginning to think that I would never wake up, but it looks like they were wrong. It wasn’t long before I was given a clean bill of health and thus began the first day of my new life.

A lot can change in 500 years though – from what I’ve been told has happened, I’m quite glad I was unconscious through certain events, such as the melting of the polar ice caps and the zombie apocalypse. Only about a million humans are left on the planet these days. The fact that even that many managed to survive through such events is astonishing. Although there’s not only humans left – once the zombies evolved they learned to live peacefully among us. They smell bad and are as thick as sh*t, but ultimately they’re mostly harmless. There are vampires too, but apparently they’ve always walked amongst us – humans just weren’t aware of them until about a hundred years ago. Lovely beings actually – not like the horror movies made them out to be. They don’t even like blood – they get mad cravings for cranberry juice though. The vampires were apparently a great asset during the rebuilding of society and the evolution of the zombies – knew exactly what needed to be done.

Another big change during the time that had passed since the plane crash was in the world of religion... Apparently sometime during the 23d Century, the heads of all the major religions came together and decided to join forces by announcing all of their Gods were false and revealing that there was only one true God. And believe it or not, absolutely everyone believes in this God – whether they are human, vampire or zombie. When I first found out who the ultimate God was, I thought it was a wind up, but of course it wasn’t. Batman... Yes, the same Batman I worshipped as a child is now worshipped by every living and unliving being on the planet. All praise Batman...

The worst thing about being 526 years old though, is that everyone you know is dead, and that’s not an easy thing to come to terms with. Well, I say everyone, but that’s not actually true. It turns out one of my best friends from college, Stephen, is a vampire. I really should have guessed back in the day – he hated sunlight and was unnaturally strong for his physique. These days he was going by the name Balthazar, which had come back into fashion during the 2480’s.
As well as Balthazar, my dog, Arnold, had been zombified during that whole apocalypse thing and Balthazar had trained him to be a domesticated zombie pet, so that was another link to my old past, even if he was stupider than before.
Balthazar had been informed of my recovery, after I woke up at the hospital, and he was the one who integrated me into this new and exciting society – and he lives in a castle these days, so now that I live there too, at least my dream of being a castle dweller came through.

The idea of dating worried me – I thought it was weird, considering I was over 500 years old, but as Balthazar kept reminding me, I was still technically only 26. When I met Alannah though, I didn’t have to worry about dating too much, because I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that we were soul mates. Apparently, she knew it too, because tomorrow is our wedding day – or as it’s now called, our Holy Batrimony...

You wouldn’t usually ever hear anyone say that a plane crash was the best thing that ever happened to them, but in my case it’s true – I’m happier than I’ve ever been. If I didn’t die 500 years ago, I would never have been brought back to life and frozen in a lab for centuries, therefore never meeting Alannah. These days, when I look in the mirror, I can’t help but think, Jude, you are one lucky f*cker...

pickarooney

Version 11

(404) 242 740 045

That was the number in Jude's pocket. She knew that the number on it's own was insignificant, but what it represented, and the role it would play in the grand scheme of things, were far beyond imagining, and would change her life, and the world, forever...

Jude knew that this journey would lead her to her destiny, the reason she had been placed on this planet. Her entire life had been leading her to this point, and there was no turning back.

She never knew her father, but based on her mother's descriptions of him it was probably for the best. Her parents were never married, and when her father discovered that he was having a daughter, he didn't see it as a great miracle, but as a burden. All his plans for the future had evaporated, and in their place was this little money-sucker, draining away all his precious savings.

One month before her mother was due to give birth, he left without any warning. All he left behind was some cash that wouldn't last two months, and a note: "Please call her Jude".

Jude's mother never knew why he wanted that name, but Jude did. Naming her after the patron saint of lost causes was exactly what she'd expect from the man who didn't care about her or her mother.

Throughout her childhood and teenage years, Jude's mother tried to teach her that not all men were pigs, and that one day she would find the man of her dreams. But she never believed it. After all, if it was so easy to meet the right man, how come her mother had never married? It was nothing but lies, and she knew it. Her mother was lying straight to her face, and it didn't matter why she was doing it. The fact of the matter is that to her, there was nobody on this earth that deserved the luxuries they had. Money had cast a shadow over everything that is right and wrong.

It was at this point that Jude realised what she was going to devote her life to.

And it was from that point that she found herself sitting on this plane, with a number in her pocket. She was one of only a dozen or so people who knew what it was for, and only one of two people who knew what the number was.

Snapping out of her flashback, Jude looked at her watch to see the time was a little after 8 o'clock. It would only be a matter of time before events would begin to play out, so she decided to prepare herself. As she stood up to go to the restroom, she was confronted with a sea of faces. Men, women and children, all living their lives as normal. Jude wondered where they were going to. A birthday party, perhaps. Or maybe returning from a holiday. Or a funeral. A wry smile appeared on her face as she realised that they were all headed towards the same destination.

In the restroom she glanced at her watch again: 08:09. There wasn't much time to go. She put on her make-up, straightened her clothes and brushed her hair, before returning to her seat.

Jude looked forwards, and saw a man in the front seat stand up and move towards the cockpit. She had never seen this man before. Up until now he was just another person in this flying tin can. But when he moved, she knew that he was the man that would start it all.

Butterflies were swirling deep down in her stomach. She knew that her destiny was approaching, fast. As she sat in her seat, basking in the glory of what she was about to accomplish, a voice spoke from the intercom:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Would the woman with the winning raffle number please approach the cockpit to claim your prize. Thank you."

That was Jude's cue. She stood up and walked towards the cabin, feeling a heightened sense of importance. Every now and then a nameless face would look at her, wondering why she had been called out. She had won some sort of competition apparently, but how come they had never heard of it?

Jude knew they would never guess the answer in time. Because she knew there was no competition, and that the number she possessed was no raffle ticket. It was much more important than that...

She approached the cockpit without interference from air-stewards; they were nowhere to be seen. Jude knocked on the door four times, and it opened. She was facing a Middle-Eastern man, certainly not the captain. Without exchanging any words with each other, she took out the piece of paper, handed it to the man in the cockpit, and he promptly closed the door. Jude was left facing a metal door. Nobody could see it, but she was smiling. Her destiny had just been fulfilled. It had passed in the blink of an eye, but she didn't mind. She knew her work was done. And in half an hour, the fruits of her labour would blossom.

As Jude approached her seat, she again faced the sea of confused faces. They didn't know it, but their fates had just been sealed. As she sat down again, Jude could sense the woman two seats away working up the courage to ask her what was going on. She would soon find out.

Another voice sprang from the intercom, but this time it wasn't the captain's voice. It sounded like it belonged to the Middle-Eastern man, and he was talking in Arabic. Without warning, several men stood up and shouted at the passengers to get down. Since all of them were waving guns, their orders were followed without much protest. To the horror of the passengers, the plane suddenly veered to the left. The plane was changing course.

But Jude knew this would happen. After all, she had just handed the coordinates of their target to the hijacker in the cockpit. For the rest of the flight, she prayed for one thing and one thing only: that her money-obsessed father was in the World Trade Centre that day...

pickarooney

Version 11

Jude sits on a plane, midflight. In Jude's jacket pocket is a piece of paper containing details that will change Jude's life forever. The plane's intercom pings and the captain makes an announcement. Jude places his hands over his ears and his head between his knees. He was good at that. The flexibility. Eighteen Dublin Marathons and he hadn’t lost an ounce of it. Quads, hams, triceps, biceps. His routine was meticulous. Nothing ever ruined his routine and now nothing was going to ruin his dream. He daren’t look at the other passengers for fear of seeing the message in their eyes. He closed his own. He thought of mile twenty-one, UCD and the downhill to Vincent’s hospital. He thought of the wards and what the piece of paper could do for one, no, one hundred of them. But why should he? Why should he share? It was his. Eighteen years he had suffered and now he would have his justice. His heart started to beat faster. He released one hand from one ear and heard nothing. He released the other, his ear popped. His heart raced. He wondered if they were descending but couldn’t tell. He felt sick at the thought of looking up but he had to. It wasn’t there.
‘It’s not there’ he half screamed.
‘What isn’t?’ the burly man next to him said.
‘Oh I was just saying the seatbelt sign wasn’t on’
‘Why should it be?’
‘No reason’.
Jude excused himself and went to the toilet. He placed both hands on the sink and looked deep into his blue eyes. He looked and they widened, his heart racing again. He dived his hand into his pocket. It was still there. He closed his eyes and sank to the toilet seat. He flushed and walked the length of the plane looking for clues. Nobody seemed to be doing anything out of the ordinary. He wanted to ask but dare he. He went back into the toilet, popped a pill, checked his pants and did another circle of the 747 en route to Detroit. ‘Detroit’ he thought as he sat in a random seat. He turned to the woman wanting to ask but said nothing. She looked at him. His eyes widened and he got up. It was there. He could sense it. He could see the fear in her eyes. Jude gulped as he tried to estimate the height of the plane above the marshmallows far below. His mind started to race again. He had to ask the question. He knew he had to or he would explode. But he couldn’t ask a question he would get a wrong answer to. How could he even converse without the risk that someone would blurt it out. Idiots. And they would. Some imbecile would blurt out the inevitable. ‘And that’s what it was’ thought Jude as he sank into another random seat. His destiny had been decided. Jude raced back to his seat pulled out a piece of paper and started writing:
I Jude Wyte make this my final will. I bequeath the entirety of my estate to.
He stopped. He needed a name. He scanned the plane. He looked for the most aged hostess. They all only had first names on their badges. He couldn’t converse without. And the risk was too great. And then he remembered the pilot had announced his name at the start. Pete. Oh what was it. Jude threw his head to his knees, evened his eyes against the window and rocked. Pete pete pete pauters. No pauper. And that was it. He would leave it to the poorest person on the plane.
He walked and sat. He got up and stretched. He knew the routine. Calves, hams, quads, shoulders. He was interrupted by someone going to the toilet and he moved to the other aisle. What would he leave? Everything. But a name? And then it clicked. He hadn’t done his triceps yet but he ran before he would forget. He reached and sat and wrote.
I Jude Wyte make this my final will. I bequeath the entirety of my estate to the pilot of the 11:55 flight EI 555 from London Heathrow to Detroit United States of America. If the pilot should disclaim I leave the entirety of my estate to all of the passengers on Flight EI 555 26th September 2009.
He threw his head in the air triumphantly. It made no difference now. Whatever the contents of the announcement all was taken care of. But no. He needed witnesses. And none of the witnesses could be beneficiaries and none of the beneficiaries could be witnesses. He would have to leave 2 out. Jude walked the plane surveying everybody. But how would he identify them? Jude felt a bead of sweat dropping on his nose. He wanted to stretch but knew he didn’t have time. The plane's intercom pinged. Jude looked for a spare seat so he could cover his ears but there was none. He ran as fast as he could to his own seat but it was too late. He had heard the announcement. They would be landing in Detroit in ten minutes. Ten minutes! Screamed Jude to himself. Oh shoe it I’ll leave it all to the cats and dogs. But he still needed 2 witnesses. The safety belt lights came on. Jude felt an explosion of wind within him and he climbed over the burly gentleman. The hostess grabbed Jude by the arm telling him to return to his seat for landing. Jude turned and grabbed the hostess lifting her off the ground and running with her to the back of the plane. Two other hostesses were sitting and belted.
‘Can you sign this please?’ said Jude.
‘Sir please be seated.’
‘You must sign this before we land. I have a very important piece of paper in my pocket and.’
Jude stopped. Suddenly it hit him. Everything he needed was staring him in the face.
‘This is my will, my entire estate to one of you, the other two must sign as witness.’
The three hostesses looked at each other.
‘Mr Wyte. Mr Jude Wyte it would be pointless for us to sign this. Didn’t you hear the announcement for you 45 minutes ago......

pickarooney

Version 11

Hang the paperwork

The great thing about aeroplanes is that the sun is always shining. No matter where you are or what’s going on in the real world at 36,000 feet the sky is always blue.

Well unless it’s night time of course.

Jude smiled to himself as the aircraft rocked gently, his fingers absently running down the crease in the envelope whose contents would change his life forever.

“We are now coming in to land at Disneyland, hooray!”

“Ahhh now Paddy, you know that’s not how real pilots talk!”

Paddy has always loved the ride on toys at shops – money traps is all they were – but the jet shaped one outside O’Flaherty’s was far and away his favourite. Even before he could properly walk or talk he’d bounce in the buggy and shout “pa pa, pa pa!”. Jude claimed he was trying to say pilot but Kylie insisted it was plane.

No imagination that woman.

It had been fun sitting in the seat with Paddy when he was a toddler, bouncing him on the knee and making jet noises. But now that he was a strapping big four year old and he still insisted Jude climbed in alongside… It was a bit silly, in fairness.

“C’mon big man, let’s hit the road…”

“Can we get sweeties Da?”

“Ohhh aye, I’ll just reach into me backside and grab a few euro, eh?”

This was the routine – breakfast and say goodbye to Kylie. Shower while Paddy watches Big Cook Little Cook. Dress and out the door, buy the paper and a packet of fags or whatever in O’Flaherty’s and Paddy gets his spin. All change come September and boyo starts school… But for now off to the park…

~~~

“Da will you play ball?”

“Ohhh now you know I hurt my knee…”

“Daaaaa! You can be Torres! Pleeeease!!”

“I’ll tell you what – you play and I’ll be the crowd. I’ll sit over here and watch, allright?”

Torres was the big man now… Jude had always loved football. Used to play a bit too, could have been pro had it not been for the knee. Again his fingers idly toyed with the envelope and the slivers of papers within. If all works out there would be no pretending, it would be the real Torres he’d be watching. Probably a corporate box for the home games and – if the right strings could be pulled – then access to the away European games as well. Now that would be something! It would make Paddy’s day… Jude's too as well, he had to admit. Might get to met the players. Could tell a few of them where they were going wrong…

“Da!”

“Yes son?”

“How many was it?”

“How many what’s son?”

“Kick ups – you said you’d count!”

“15 big lad, new record, well done!”

~~~

The spuds were watery.

Again.

God love her, she was a great woman – and had been some looker in her day too. But she could burn water. Maybe for Christmas he’d get her one of those fancy cookery courses. Need to be careful though – a present like that and a woman of Kylies….temperament…could take it the wrong way, not like it was intended, if you know what I mean. Before then it would be better to stick to restaurants. Not the Taj Mahal but proper, posh, quality restaurants in town. No need to be worried about them from now on – the money wouldn’t be an issue. Ever since that incident at his Debs Jude had fretted in fancy places but he’d been reading Kylie’s magazines when she was out. Not that he’d admit it, Jesus the lads would slaughter him for it. But it made you think – the state of some of those celebrities falling out of places and they were always welcomed back, why should he be treated any differently to them from now on? The envelope was on the countertop now, propped up against the breadbin. He could feel it calling to him, whispering, holding out promises…

“JUDE!!”

“Yes love?”

“5 times! Where is your head at? We’re trying to talk to you!”

“Sorry love, stuff on my mind, you know, what were you saying?”

“Didn’t I break my record today Da?”

“That you did son”

“Aww that’s great, well done! Jude – did you fix that fence panel? Mary was at me again about it, her dog got out through our gate again yesterday”

“Ahhhh, no, no. I need to get a different type of screw I think…”

And she’s off again… What do you do all day, etc, ect. First thing tomorrow he’d book a builder and build the mother of all walls between them and that Mary one. Not that he’d need to – they’d be moving out by the end of the week. Jude’s eye wandered again to the envelope with its 18 slips of paper, one of them holding the magical line that would transform his life. Make him the father and husband his family deserved. He could hear the theme music in his head… If she’d stop talking and he hurried his dinner he’d be able to watch the whole program this time…

pickarooney

Version 11

4 minutes.

"This is your captain speaking. We're expecting to fly through some turbulence in the next few minutes. We will increase our altitude to fly above most of it, but for now, please ensure your seatbelts are fastened and your tray tables are stowed."

A handful of passengers who had been stretching their legs returned to their seats. A cacophony of clicks ensured that the aisle would be clear for the next few minutes. Good.

Omar Khalil looked at his watch. Nearly time. He was nervous, but alert. This was the flight. 2 years of training - manuals, drills, practice, it had come to this. He stared back at his newspaper. Omar hadn't read a word for the last 15 minutes, but needed to focus on something. He glanced sideways at his neighbours in 5E and 5F. 5E was a spotty teenager playing one of those handheld Nintendo machines. His face was 6 inches from the screen, and it cast a kaleidoscopic glow on his acne pocked skin. 5F was an old man, in his 80s at least. His chin was on his chest, and he was out for the count. A thin column of spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth and pooled in the recess between his sternum and pot belly. Omar closed his eyes and did some simple meditation. He needed to get his heart rate down.

3 minutes.

Several rows back, Ted Fisher looked at his watch. He was uncomfortable. The seat was too small for his muscular frame. He was told to get a seat in economy class. Orders. He didn’t care - discomfort focussed the mind. He looked at the little TV screen on the back of the seat in front of him. It was playing an old episode of Seinfeld. Hate that prick. He fumbled for the controls on the armrest and flicked through a few channels. A porcelain brunette was talking to a giant robot. Click. Oh this asshole. When did white guys start thinking they were black? What was this dick’s name again? Enema? Appropriate f**king name. Click. It’s a map. A tiny plane graphic blinks every 5 seconds. Click. Back to Seinfeld.

Click. A different button. The screen went black.

Ted scanned the people around him. Someone here is going to kick up a ruckus in about 2 minutes, but who?

2 minutes.

Omar knew it was time to get ready. He reached under the seat in front of him, and pulled up a metal suitcase. A glance sideways - the kid was still in his own world, and the old man was still asleep. He reached for a piece of paper in his pocket. 6 numbers: 3-7-2-9-3-4. He entered the first 3 numbers on the left combination lock, the second 3 on the right. Click, click. The case unlocked. Omar reached inside without looking and in one fluid (and well rehearsed) movement grabbed a device, put it in his jacket pocket, and returned the case to floor. He put his hand in his pocket, cupped the device in his hand and released a safety switch. He rested his thumb on a button and waited.

1 minute.

Ted was getting antsy. A mistake now would be costly. He had to figure out who his nemesis was. He remembered a game from his childhood called "Guess Who?", and began to play it in his mind.

72 passengers on board. The person would have to be in the front third of the plane, so he eliminated 48 from the list.
24 passengers left. The person would be in an aisle seat.
8 passengers left. Probably a man. A risk, but an educated one. 3 women eliminated.
5 passengers left. The person would be at least 18 years old, and younger than 40. 3 more crossed off the list.
2 passengers. 7C and 5D.

7C was a black guy in a suit. Pretty well built, average height (compared to the people around him), and seemed alert.

5D was a guy of Middle Eastern ethnicity. Ted smiled wryly at the cliché. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. He was wearing baggy shorts and a sports jacket.

Ted went with his gut instinct and the 2nd last tile on his internal game of "Guess Who?" fell, leaving just one standing.

Omar had been given a time of 8pm, and that time was almost here. He took the device out of his pocket, and held it in his lap. An air hostess, with a tray in one hand, knocked on the cockpit door with the other. Ted unclipped his seatbelt and moved quickly towards the front of the plane. Without breaking stride, he grabbed 7C's head, snapped his neck, and broke into a sprint towards the cockpit.

Air Marshall Omar "Judas" Khalil reacted. He raised the device, pointed it at the running passenger and pressed the button. A pair of thin wires shot forward and made contact between the big man’s shoulder blades. 50,000 volts of electricity passed from Omar's hand into hijacker's torso. The man froze mid-stride and arched his back. With a grunt, he fell backwards, and it was over. Omar looked back at the dead passenger in 7C - an unassuming business man in a suit. Why did the hijacker think he had been the Air Marshall? One casualty was one casualty too many, but it was immeasurably better than a full plane.

Omar had been a senior lieutenant in the Taliban when he requested asylum after 9/11. He was a religious man, and fundamentally believed that everything his former leaders did contradicted the teachings of the Quran. Trained as an Air Marshall by the FAA, codename "Judas", he was happy for the opportunity. Anything was better than being locked up in that Cuban hell. 4 years had been enough.

While stunned passengers looked on, Omar approached the would-be hijacker. His slight frame belied his wiry strength, and he lifted the man with little difficulty. He injected him with a sedative to ensure that the remainder of the flight would be uneventful, and called ahead to arrange a greeting party at the terminal. Omar went back to his seat.

The PA system crackled to life - "This is your captain speaking. We have passed through the turbulence and it should be a smooth trip to our destination."

Omar nodded his approval.

"Inshallah." God willing.

pickarooney

Version 11

Jude sits on a plane, midflight. In Jude's jacket pocket is a piece of paper containing details that will change Jude's life forever. The plane's intercom pings and the captain makes an announcement, however it is just white noise to Jude, as his mind is swarming with scenarios. If he opens the piece of paper now, he knows for certain what it contains. What if the contents are not what he expects? If he doesn’t open the piece of paper, he is delaying the inevitable and causing himself palpitations at 30,000 feet.

He is flying to see her, to confront her. He has been putting this trip off for some months now, but he needs answers that only she can provide. He wants her to explain everything to him face to face. His heart races at the thought of seeing her again. She had turned his world upside down years ago, and now she had done it again - but in an entirely different way.

His thoughts are interrupted by a hostess asking if he would like a drink. He declines with a forced smile, and as soon as she turns away from him, his expression reverts to one of worry; the worry that has been bubbling inside him since that piece of paper was placed in his hand.

Jude berates himself for not looking at it before hastily booking the flight. He could have saved himself time, money and anxiety by reconsidering his decision. She will not greet him with open arms; nonetheless he just wants to be near her. He attempts to inhale deeply to calm himself, but finds he is short of breath. He catches the attention of the elderly lady sitting beside him, who offers a travel sickness bag to stop him hyperventilating. Jude thanks her and clasps the bag in his trembling hands.

He closes his eyes, and images of happier times flash before him. Celebrations with friends and family, achievements for excellence at work, precious private moments with her. He focuses on these memories to drown out the overwhelming anxiety that is suffocating him. Perhaps he could ask the elderly lady to read the piece of paper? He quickly dismisses this suggestion as pathetic and cowardly. His breath becomes shallow again.

Jude clenches his fist as anger envelopes him. She betrayed him, yet he is still inexplicably drawn to her. He glances at the elderly lady, who is gazing at him with concern. He looks away and stares out the window at the darkness.

Guilt is the next emotion he feels. Guilt for abandoning the life he had nurtured and enjoyed, on a whim. Always forwards, never backwards had been his mantra for so many years, and yet here he was, tucked between an elderly lady and a nervous-looking teenager on the red-eye taking him across the country.

**************************

She stares coldly at Jude. She is bombarded with thoughts and emotions. Why is he here? She looks him up and down. He is not the man she once knew and loved. She nods her head sadly, and a lone tear trickles down her cheek.

She walks away from Jude for the last time. A doctor approaches her and asks if he can speak with her. She follows him into a small waiting room, where she is informed that Jude had died before the plane had even crashed. Even though his body was burned and broken on impact, he had actually suffered a massive heart attack minutes before the crash. She thanks the doctor and turns to leave the room, when the doctor asks her one more question – If she knew that Jude was HIV positive. She stares at the ground and admits that Jude was probably on his way to tell her this. She doesn’t know that the HIV test results were on that piece of paper in Jude’s jacket pocket, which burned in the crash.

She thanks the doctor again, and makes her way to the ladies’ toilets. She stares at her reflection in the harshly lit mirror, and absorbs the information she has just been given. She brushes a few stray hairs off her forehead and suddenly remembers the last thing she had ever said to Jude – Drop Dead.

She smiles at her reflection, turns around, and strides confidently out of the hospital thinking After all these years; he still does exactly what I ask him to!

pickarooney

Version 11

The only sounds in the cabin were the soft noises of sleeping passengers and the hiss of the too-cold air conditioning. Jude couldn’t sleep. He shrugged into his jacket, and remembered the piece of paper in the inside pocket. He spread it out on the fold-down table. The first two sentences of an abandoned short story marched across the page in his slanted handwriting. They described his present surroundings; a man travelling alone, on a plane, at night, the cabin lights dimmed and the other passengers asleep. He smiled at the coincidence.
Taking a pen from his pocket, Jude wrote some more. In concise sentences, he described his protagonist, Steve, discovering a forgotten attempt at a short story in his jacket pocket, and smiling as he realised that it described his present surroundings. Then, Jude and Steve chewed their pens for a moment, thinking of what to add next. Something was needed to move the stories along. Perhaps a tap on the shoulder from an air hostess, or a conversation with another passenger. Or an announcement from the captain…
Jude wrote “The plane’s intercom pinged...” but before he could continue he was interrupted by the ping of the plane’s intercom. He raised his head in surprise as the captain’s voice uttered a familiar mantra. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please remain in your seats and keep your seat belts fastened. Thank you.” Still bemused at the coincidence, Jude jotted the captain’s words on the page, making them the fictional words of the captain on Steve’s plane. Then, an idea forming in his mind, he had Steve jot the words down on his page. Jude turned the idea over in his mind. What if events in Steve’s world started to mimic the short story that was developing on Steve’s page? What if Steve wrote a story about a plane entering turbulence, just before Steve’s own plane entered turbulence?
Gripping his pen again, Jude had Steve grip his pen and write “Lightning flashed outside the window”. Then, smiling, Jude wrote “Lightning flashed outside Steve’s window”.
Lightning flashed outside Jude’s window and everything plunged into darkness. The only sound in the cabin was the wrenching of metal and the screaming of passengers.

pickarooney

Version 11

DEATH

It feels a little stupid really – sitting here with a white-knuckle grip of the arm rests. How would that possibly help me if the plane were to lose a wing and crash towards the ground? Jude Yanetki, pulled from the rubble with his blackened hands clamped to the chair. He died as he lived – with good posture.

The static crackle of the intercom interrupted my thoughts. ‘This is your Captain speaking ... that should be the last of the turbulence. You are free to take off your seatbelts.’

The semi-silence of the other passengers gave way to some quiet chatter, and the laughter of children. I kept my seatbelt on and tried to will away some of the tension in my body. I wanted to get to Nice, and I wanted to get there as soon as possible. I had a message to deliver, and Heaven help me if I didn’t deliver it.

*

I have a horrible habit of people-watching, and wondering how a stranger’s death would impact upon the people they know. Up here, a missile of human flesh racing across the air, there is little else to do but muse upon the people that surround me. Take the lady across the aisle from me, two rows ahead. She has two children sitting beside her – I cannot see them but I can hear them. Their low growls and the scuffling of pages is an obvious one – they’re fighting over the magazines. The lady is lowering her voice to a whisper and barking orders to the pair of them. Within seconds, a young boy is uprooted from the centre seat and tied (I mean belted) to the aisle seat. Divide and conquer! I saw no glimmer of a wedding ring – single mother? Her son’s lip quivers with the threat of a sea of tears, but she gives him a hug and hands him one of the magazines. Love. The bond of mother and child. So simple, and yet so important. Her family would be devastated of course. The funeral would be flower-laden, and genuine tears would be wept. Even without a body to mourn over.

How different for the man one seat behind her. He looks edgy, and slightly ragged, and stressed. Stressed to his limits. His cheap suit and economy-class seat tell me that he’s a businessman, and a failing one at that. His eyes scan the crumpled A4 pages he has scattered across the fold-down table. They are full of numbers and percentages and red marks. His hair is messy and a bead of sweat trickles down his face. The passenger sitting beside him has her face screwed up with disapproval. Story of his life really. A good man, with good intentions, but he just never got a break. Always drew the short straw. Tries his best but always ends up attracting bad luck like a super-magnet. He’s not like the other lady. He is unmarried of course – no woman stayed for long. He lost contact with family and friends (if he had any). His passing would be of no consequence. A necessary memorial, attended by the person that inherits his money. If he has any money that is.

Sometimes it’s the little things that tell you how a person will be missed. The woman sitting beside me fingers her wedding ring anxiously. Perhaps she’s apprehensive about being away from her husband. Or maybe she’s returning from a holiday fling. Either way, her death would be mourned by an inconsolable husband. The man at the front of the airplane had a service dog – he was blind or something. Why animals dying affects me more, I don’t know. That dog lived a life of faithful service, and his death would seem like an unfair outcome to his years of devotion. But sometimes, we cannot choose our destiny. Or we cannot avoid it.

I imagine the impact a plane crash would have on the families of the passengers. The emotional impact that is! The news would have streaming coverage of the disaster for days. News crews would pounce on passengers’ relatives and use their tears to boost their ratings. Perhaps I am too morbid about all this. Whatever is going to happen will happen.

The captain announces we are approaching the end of the flight. I click off my seatbelt and go towards the toilets.

‘You must remain seated,’ a flight attendant tells me. I gently push her aside and tell her I’ll just be a few minutes. Just a few lousy minutes. It won’t even matter to her in the long run.

I go into the toilets and shut the door behind me. My heart is pumping gallons of blood every second. My hands are beginning to shake. Can I really do this? Is this really the right way? I lean my hands against the wall for support. The note! I almost forgot. With a trembling hand I reach slowly into my pocket and pull out a letter. I open the folded page once, twice, three times. I recognise my brother’s handwriting. ‘Do it for your country. Do it for your family’.

Moments later, I’ve burst out the door of the toilets and I’m chanting as loud as I can. Words even I cannot recognise. The flame from the match sizzles along the wicks towards their explosive destination. The passengers cry and scream and cower from my wailing and flailing. In an instant, the businessman accepts his bad luck, the married woman regrets her holiday without her husband and the woman clutches her kids close to her chest. I imagine the people in the suburbs of Nice below, whose deaths I haven’t envisaged. A man races towards me to try to stop what’s about to happen. He almost reaches me as the chaos turns to silence.

pickarooney

Version 11

Jude had only been gone a couple of hours, but what was abundantly clear, when he returned, was that he was no longer welcome. Things had been found – emails, letters – things which had immediately emptied their relationship of fidelity or trust. Much later, after the fallout had settled, invariably while drunk, he would declare the reading of his emails, an unjust and vile betrayal of trust. But the letters – the letters, he had to admit, were just f*cking dumb. Who keeps letters?
He cried and begged, promised, plea-bargained, threatened and made offerings to false Gods. But she stood fast. She’d been hurt before, and he would pay double; the previous guy’s last chance would be his too.
He hung around for a few weeks in the vain hope that he would find long-term accommodation, and perhaps even a job. Hell, maybe even her. But none were forthcoming. And then, in a bar one night, with a stomach full of whiskey and a head full of ire, he spied a couple on a date. The girl, all coquettish and flirty, he recognised to be Kim; the guy, well, it didn’t matter who he was but that he was with her. So Jude flew home to Illinois, and resumed the life he’d left for her eighteen months ago.
They were just letters and emails. He hadn’t gone as far as meeting any of these ladies. And although one of them had taken the time to write letters – actual letters, which he’d somehow unearthed the stupidity to reply to in kind – he’d no intention of taking things further.
If you asked him why, he probably couldn’t tell you. Boredom? Attention? Perhaps – he’d travelled a long way, and left a lot behind. At first, when everything was coloured in love it had been easy, but as time passed and normal life resumed, things had become less straightforward. She worked five days a week, and he didn’t work any. He personally knew five people in the country, and each one of them through Kim. Without a job, or any independent source of finance, it was impossible to find any sort of social outlet. His world was friends of friends, and Kim. And he’d found it hard not to feel lonely.



It had been two years since he’d heard her voice. He’d forgotten the soft, bright accent she spoke with. It had brought to him many different emotions: pain being the most recent. This time, though, he’d no idea what he felt. Regret, maybe; anger, a bit; joy … yes.
He took the next flight out.

“Whiskey and Coke, please.”
The stewardess put the comedy sized can of coke and the comedy sized bottle of Whiskey on his tray. Jude quickly calculated how many more of these he’d need to have any chance of extinguishing his recalcitrant nerves.
“Anything else, sir?”
“Eh, yeah,” he replied. “I’m gonna need about eight more of these.”
He stared once more at the now creased picture he’d printed out before leaving. It was rough, and pixelated, and beautiful. He smiled, and a tear danced down his face.



They’d met online, not on a dating site – they were too cool for school for that – but a social network site. He’d been playing around, looking for hot Irish girls to chat to, just for kicks really. She had signed up merely to “see what all the fuss was about”. Quite quickly she saw that the fuss was all about Jude. They emailed, exchanged phone numbers, and before you could say “long distance relationships don’t work”, it was love at first phone call.
Maybe this was why she never believed he’d never fully cheat: they’d both taken a laissez-faire attitude to making friends online, and had fallen in love. What, so, did it mean that this time he’d actively sought other women? Nothing, to him, but everything, to her.



The plane shook violently, sending large droplets of Jameson (by now he’d dispensed with the cola) onto the picture. Panicked, Jude looked for something to wipe it with. Nothing came to hand, so he wiped it on his shirt. No damage done. The picture would be fine. He placed it in his jacket pocket for safekeeping.
The plane shook again, and then again. Jude hated flying. He’d feared dying in a plane crash ever since childhood. Whenever a plane he was on shuddered, or made a strange noise, however slight, his internal panic station would switch to DEFCON 2. He eventually realised the trick was to watch the cabin crew. They were the perfect barometer of a plane’s safety: if it really was going down, there was no way the hot blonde with the tight ass would still be able to maintain her vapid perma-smile.
But this time they weren’t smiling, or chatting idly, or pouring coffee, or even doling out pillows. This time, he realised, they were scared.



After a while she'd come to visit him. They spent a week cooped up in his apartment making love and making plans. And when the time came to leave she cried bitterly. He promised her she’d see him soon, and she did. A few months later, he arrived on her doorstep, bag in tow. He asked could he stay with her for a while, as he’d quit his job, left his apartment and was 4,000 miles from home. And while this might have seemed, to many, like a rather rash, ill-planned idea, she instead threw her arms around him, and told him never to leave. So he didn’t. Until, of course, she found the letters and emails.



The plane continued bouncing across the sky, and by now he felt a tangible sense of worry from the crew and passengers alike. His chest hardened into a knot. “Not now,” he whispered to himself. “Please God, not today.”
A voice came over the intercom: “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking. Please remain calm. We are experiencing severe turbulence, which has caused engine problems. We will be making an emergency landing. Please follow the safety procedure, and remain calm.”
Nobody did. Halfway over the Atlantic, with nothing but thousands of miles of ocean, and a moonless night sky between them and land, the words "emergency" and "landing" held little in the way of comfort. Jude reached into his jacket pocket, and as the cabin erupted into a chorus of screams, as people hugged each other and cried, as the plane lowered slowly, but firmly towards the Atlantic Ocean, he looked one more time at the photograph of his son. He was just like his mother.

pickarooney

Version 11

Import/Export

Jude is stuck in the aisle seat. Typical. Squashed beside this bulky heap of a woman and dodging the service trolleys that aim for her elbow or knee each time they pass. ‘Thank God I’m small’, Jude thinks, and tries to make herself even smaller. Even so, her legs are bent awkwardly, and the person behind keeps prodding the seat back with theirs. The plane is hot, and the smell of the in-flight toasted paninis is making her feel ill. All she can think of is live beef haulage. That this is our karma for allowing the transport of cattle in crowded trucks for all these years.

The tank of a woman beside her is her aunt, by marriage. Fancy that, someone actually chose to wed this woman. Still, she did end up killing him off. Well, the cancer did, but Jude wonders if he simply died of despair. Tank is a good description of auntie Jean. Her bulk, that sickly green coat she always wears, and her knack of crashing destructively through everyone’s lives, make her not dissimilar to an armoured vehicle.

Jude fishes the paper out of her pocket again. Marie Stokes Clinic. An address. She feels a weight like a breezeblock press on her chest. 30,000 feet in the air, trapped by a seatbelt, a widowed aunt, and family pride. Jesus, this sucks. She doesn’t feel stupid or crazy or young. She feels wronged. Pressed into a corner by all the adults in her life. No one has once asked her how she felt about all this. Or what she actually wanted to do about it.

When she told her mother, it was like setting off a bomb. First, Ma had sat as if her central processor was stuck on abort/retry/fail? It seemed to take forever before the reaction came. When it did, it was sudden. She just stood, and slapped Jude hard on the face. ‘You bitch, how dare you’. Jude had heard her, afterwards in the kitchen, sobbing as she clashed plates in the sink. But they never talked about it again. Wheels began rolling, a plan was set in motion, and Jude was carried along. Her mother’s boyfriend never came home on that first night, or any night since, and for that, at least, Jude was grateful.

That was September, just after her fourteenth birthday. Now it was October and here she was. With her aunt sitting beside her as primly as her bulk will allow in the narrow airline seat, a chaperone who would make sure the job was done right. She’d needed a seatbelt extension, the fat cow. Once Jean had sniffed the ugly news, she had engulfed the Burke household like drain cleaner, determined to help cleanse out the stain that Jude had brought. That was Jean all over. Take charge, make plans, dictate, control. While Jude’s mother had seemed unable to react at all. She allowed Jean to deal with it and spent the days sitting on the sofa, chain-smoking.

The plane’s intercom pings, and the Captain’s calm, tinny voice comes over the speakers. Mentions something about the approach to Gatwick and being ahead of schedule. Damn. Jude sinks lower in her seat and tries not to think about landing. In the air, she can sit and not actually do anything. She can pretend she is going on holiday, or on important Top Model business. Once this plane lands, the whole show gets moving again. Buses, taxis, clinics, motion, finality, ending, death.

Why couldn’t she get her mother to see? Why wouldn’t she understand? Her little brother is only two. Jude’s loved that child since the day he came home. Dragged him around the house with her, taught him to wiggle his nappy to Black Eyed Peas. Fed him mashed banana when he just wanted to wear it. Babysat when Ma was having her bad days. She can’t go home and look at her brother and know what could have been. They could manage. They did before, when Da left. Before ‘he’ came. Why can’t her mother understand? Since that first day, her mother’s withdrawal from discussion had made it impossible to talk or plead or explain. To Ma, this was damage, a dirty secret mess that had to be cleaned up, a small new face that would be so familiar she never wanted to see it.

The cabin lights dimmed. ‘Normal procedure for takeoff or landing in the hours of darkness’. Almost there.

The concourse is crowded with people in transit. Taxi men with placards wait for business fares to come through the arrivals doors. Everyone looks busy, important, happy. She seems to be the only stupid fourteen-year-old here to sort out a bit of trouble. None of her friends even have a clue she’s here. She kept her Facebook updates happy, smiled and gossiped and pretended. God, they’d love this. Her ears would burn till she was pension age. She’d never trusted them with her problems before, and she’d tough this one out alone, too.

But it’s hard. As they get nearer the taxi rank, a vice tightens against her chest till it hurts. She is pushing against an invisible wall and her feet get heavier, until they refuse to move. Her aunt, chugging along through the crowd in front of her, is gone twenty paces before she realises Jude has stopped, and is standing still against the moving flow of people. She can’t go on and her breath won’t come, it’s caught somewhere deep in her chest, behind what feels like a solid block in her throat. It rises and pushes until it breaks out of her, somewhere between a sob and a moan. There, in the throng of strangers, suddenly she is broken, alone and just a child.

Then she is held, inside a chubby strong pair of arms. Pressed into the overwhelming bosom of a woman she tried so hard to hate. Her sobs get louder, Jean’s shirt begins to soak with tears and spittle and a rage of muffled words. Jude expels a sea of swears against this woman, anger at every single thing that’s been unfair. And Jean just holds on. Strokes her hair. Whispers ‘Ah, love. Ah, Jesus love I’m sorry’. Over and over, stroking and whispering. There’s no hurry. The taxi’s can wait. The clinic can wait. This bustling place can move around them, they have all the time in the world. They don’t have to go anywhere.

pickarooney

Version 11

'We will be landing shortly at Dublin airport,temperature is 12 degrees and it's raining heavily' said the captain. Groans could be heard from the other passengers. 'When is it not?' laughed a man to my left,'come on lads,drink up'. The group of men he was with cheered and started finishing their drinks. 'Stag weekend' the first one explained when he saw me glance over. I smiled knowingly back,'hope it was a good one'. Checking my watch i got up and made my way to the small bathroom. I closed the door firmly , took a deep breath and splashed my face with cool water. Staring back at me through the mirror was a pale sweaty mess, the face of a typical nervous passenger. It was time.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a slip of paper which was folded neatly in half. Opening it I read '45'. I turned over the paper but there was nothing else. I spent at least five minutes staring at the page,half hoping it would change or the number would disappear. It didn't. Ding. 'Would all passengers take your seats and fasten your seatbelts,we will now start our descent'. No more time to think,i returned to my seat and strapped my self in. The airplane began to slant forward slightly as it headed towards the runway. Bump,bump,land. We stopped.

I glanced at my seat number,44. No.43,whoever they were,got up and made their way towards the exit. I stood up,letting other passengers stream past but in reality blocking the exit of the man behind me. He huffed a bit impatiently but i'm a big man, not easily intimidated. The plane was almost empty. I turned,said 'sorry'. 'That's alright' he replied,'these things are like sardine tins'. 'No really i'm sorry' I said again. This time he looked up at me and then down at the knife in my hand. 'Oh God'. I thrust it at him,straight at the heart. It was almost instant. Almost.

I turned and hurried towards the exit,heart beating wildly now. 'Thanks for flying with us' cheered the stewardess, her tone at odds with her expression,which was one of extreme boredom. Would she remember this later,with fear,horror or even excitement? I made my way down the steps but instead of going into the terminal i veered right towards a side gate. It was open and i slid through. I followed the corridor and it brought me to another door,also open which led to a door into the airport newsagents. I stopped here for a moment and opened my bag. It held a change of clothes and some facial wipes.I took off my suit and changed into jeans and a shirt,the fit was perfect. I could do nothing about the shoes. There was a small spot of blood on one. I cursed and wiped it off. The other shoe seemed clean but i wiped that one off too,just in case. I took off the wig and glasses and wiped the fake tan from my face. Stepping out i looked completely different and with confidence now i strode through the front doors. I sat into a taxi and we sped off.

When i got home i ran into the house,calling my wife and daughters name. There was no answer. I knew there wouldn't be but still.The phone rang,breaking the silence. 'Hello'. 'Hey Jude' he said,'don't make it bad,although it couldn't be much worse'. Then he burst out laughing.'You bastard' i screamed,'where are they?' 'All in good time' he answered,'first there is a little something left for you to do'.

I didn't sleep much that night,the events of the day running through my mind like a sick groundhog day. Getting into the taxi outside my hotel that morning, getting the phone call,hearing his voice,then my wife and then emily. 'Daddy help!'. How do you say no? I opened the bag on the floor,containing a ticket for a later flight in someone elses name, once i had showed my i.d. going in i could just wait in the lounge and pass through unchallenged onto the other flight.When i went to the bathroom i had lifted the cistern of the toilet and there inside was a knife wrapped in a pair of rubber gloves. Who the hell was this guy and how did he get the knife onboard?

I was up early the next morning,got dressed for work,ignoring the bags developing under my eyes. I nicked myself shaving and the blood brought back memories from the day before which i didn't want to entertain. I arrived at work,parked and made my way through the double doors.

'Morning Inspector,How was your trip?'

davyjose

Version 11

I voted 1 & 10. The standard was incredible this month. I was disappointed to get to the end, tbh.

What separated the two I chose was the quality of writing. Real talent there. But, 2, 4, 7, 12 were also stand-out pieces.

*Sorry for the brief post - I'm reading/writing all this from a phone.

Antilles

Version 8

I just voted, though I didn't realise I was logged out at the time. Should I vote again under my own username? My vote went to #7. Loved the twist, though I did think "this better just just turn out to be a.n.other terrorist story" when I saw the guy was called Omar. By far the best one today, imo.

Notable mentions go to: #3, which was very irreverant and fun. I especially liked Batman as God! #9, which is the shortest by far, but despite that I liked it. Quirky and clever.

A surprising amount of repetition in this lot, I thought. Every other story had massive turbulence and terrorists. Next time maybe we could go for a less restricted setting?

Other comments -

#1 - Didn't really like this one. What's happening isn't clear until the very end. Jude is bringing her mother's remains home? Or is she bringing her home spiritually? Some of the writing is a bit unclear as well - e.g. "As soon as she landed in Birmingham" sounds like this plane is landing in Birmingham sounds like she's landing in Birmingham, but the next line says she's landing in Heathrow.

#4 - Jude's motivation makes no sense, and the ending is obvious a mile away. Linking it to 9/11 is just lazy. I mean, does the father actually work in the WTC or is she just randomly hoping he's in there? And the hijackers didn't know where the target was, even though its known that they trained for the mission for weeks? Unrealistic at best.

#5 - I've no idea what's going on. He's having flashbacks to a marathon in college, he's trying to get someone to sign his will, and there was an announcement for him that he missed as well. Too confusing, IMO.

#6 - Nice story, though I didn't like the flashback quality - though was it flashbacks, or had time passed? I liked the character and his relationship with the kid. Bit confusing at the start - thought Jude was a pilot at first.

#10 - I liked the writing style, liked the way the guy picked out passengers and imagined how their deaths would effect other people, but AGAIN with the terrorist plot. I know, my favourite one had a terrorist plot but this one was missing the twist.

#12 - Nice, well written. Good at tugging on the hearstrings.

pickarooney

Version 11

Antilles wrote: »

I just voted, though I didn't realise I was logged out at the time. Should I vote again under my own username?

Cleared your guest vote. Please vote again under your normal login.

fona

Version 8

I've jotted down some thoughts as I was reading through the various stories and figured I'd share them in case they're of any help to the writers involved.

I'm voting for Story 2, 7 and 13(reasons, insofar as I have them, are detailed below).

Story 1.
What's happening is not entirely clear. At first read I figured that Jude was Ellen's daughter and has mental issues and is bringing her Mom's ashes home. But there's a sentence near the end where (I think??) the name Ellen is used by mistake instead of Jude? "As the plane descended Ellen felt her head get lighter." So this threw me into wondering if it was a case of multiple personalities, that Jude is Ellen on pills?? But like I said I think its an error.

In terms of the story then.. a few issues. Is she bringing Ellen's ashes home? Is she bringing Ellen home because she's moving there and she is the last bit of Ellen still on the planet(being her daughter)? It wasn't clear to me. Is she landing in Heathrow or Birmingham? I assume its a case of a connecting flight but it could have been stated clearer. Or again it could be an error.

Overall I just didn't get what point the writer was trying to make with the piece.

Story 2.
I thought the story was stronger than some of the others. I liked the WW2 era setting and feel to the piece. I liked that the story did not feature turbulence! I also liked that the whole story is written without the letter 'e' but that its not really noticeable until I realised what was on the paper. Having done exercises in the past like this in constrained writing myself I know how difficult it is and to have a piece read as naturally as this is quite a feat IMO.

Story 3.
Funny, my sort of topic- vampires, zombies etc, but everything felt like it was just being listed. No real emotional impact for the character even when he touches on missing the people he knew, which even in a light hearted piece like this I felt there should be. Otherwise don't mention it maybe, just focus on the light hearted stuff? Reminded me quite strongly of Dr Horrible in its tone.

Story 5.
I liked the crazy eyed psyco-ness of Jude in this story but I would like to know what's going on. I ended the story with a giant WTF and not a good one. An "I'm confused and am pissed off about it" sort of WTF. Several stories here suffered from this also.

Story 6.
Again, I'm having to make assumptions about what the piece of paper is. I am assuming its a lotto ticket but there's nothing to definitely say that.

The use of the different time frames, 1. on the plane, 2.at home, and 3. playing ball(Wasn't even sure at first if this is a time frame or a flashback, but since its referenced in the "at home" segment then it must be a time frame that happens after he gets off the plane and before the watery spuds bit??)

Anyway, the use of the three time frames, all complete with their own musings on the piece of paper, and flashbacks, was highly confusing and ruined the narrative flow for me.

Story 7.
I liked this one the best. My first thought was.. Oh gods, another 9/11 hijacking story but the red herring was extremely well done for a twist in the tail that had me say, Oh nice! aloud as I realised it. While it features the two elements predictable to a plane story.. turbulence and hijackers, but it subverts the hijacker element and really the story is about the air marshal and not the hijacker.

I liked the level of detail in the observations Omar made of the nearby passengers. I liked the Guess Who imagery for Ted trying to select his own target.

The only issue that I have really is why Omar would need a combination for his case written down. But I guess this would be easily enough explained.

Story 9.
An old trope but I liked the story. It was well written. It's simple enough that the shortness of it and the sudden ending don't irritate since there's nothing really set up needing to be resolved.

Story 10.
First, what I liked... the zooming in on a passenger here, a passenger there.. focusing on the details of them, painting a picture of what their lives may be etc. It's a technique I've used on crowds before for writing inspiration.

What I didn't like... the predictable elements.. Turbulence and Hijackers. I know the setting is a plane and they're the first two things that jump to mind but by that very reason they're the two things I would avoid using in a story. Especially not in a straight forward way.

Story 11.
Nice piece that I thought used the mixing of flashback and real time quite well. Didn't really resonate with me though

Story 12.
Again, a nice piece, well written but just not my sort of story. Most effective at provoking an emotional response though.

Story 13.
May be that I just finished playing Hitman.. but this felt very like a sequence from Hitman. Well written and I liked it.

ToasterSparks

Version 13

Yay, reading time! Brilliant standard once again, and they were all a pleasure to read. Lots of Judes of both genders again! I voted for Entry 1, 3 and 12, as they were the ones that appealed to me most.

Entry 1:
I liked this story (and not because it was the first one – I read them all equally!). The character of Jude was appealing and I learned a lot about her past in a short space of time. There was a real sense of loss and regret, especially at the end with the revelation of Jude’s mother being dead. Great.

Entry 3:
This one, in contrast to almost all of the entries, had a light-hearted and humorous approach, which I enjoyed. The almost blasé approach to describing the huge changes on Earth and the unbelievable scenario Jude found himself in was great fun to read. I’d love to read a book with this style of writing!

Entry 12:
A really strong character makes this my other choice. Jude is young, and there’s a great sense of both old-head-on-young-shoulders and also of childishness running through the piece. It dawned on me midway through why she was heading to the clinic and I really liked her character and attitude.


Entries 2 and 6 were good, but I didn’t quite understand what was being left unsaid, and it took away from my enjoyment of those entries. Entry 9 was an interesting take on the outline and I would have liked it to be a little longer. Interesting how terrorism was weaved into the plot of a good few of the entries too – they were nice to read, but none jumped out enough to get my vote.

Well done everyone, great stuff – I can safely say that I’m in the presence of some pretty good writers!

Blush_01

Version 13

I voted for #7 and #12. #12 was definitely my favourite in terms of how emotive it was, but #7 was very well written too, and having gone away and come back they were the two that stood out in my memory most.

I thought the idea behind #9 was really clever, but I would have liked it to be a little longer.

Nicely done everyone!

Also Starring LeVar Burton

Version 13

I voted for #7, #9 and #12... Honourable mention to #4 and #6...

#7 was my favourite of the lot, well written and entertaining, and I thought the guess who element was great and is probably what made it my favourite...

#9 I really liked the idea behind it (the story within the story within the story)... Couple of people were saying it was really short, but there was only a 1000 word limit, there was no minimum and I thought it was really effective as it was...

#12 stood out because of the topic it was dealing with and was again well written... There's great possibility for a novel or a longer story there and this just being a small scene of that

#4 I liked the theme of the hatred of the father and it was an interesting take on the 9/11 situation, althought I had figured as much out early on... With a bit of work and tweaking it could be a fantastic story - the coordinates twist kinda ruined it on me though, as surely that's information the terrorists would have had already...

#6 I really enjoyed the use of dialogue in this and the images created, but it was a bit vague overall and it could have been tied together a bit better perhaps, but still really enjoyed it...

Was gonna give feedback on all the stories, but realised in the process of doing so, I'd undoubtedly give away which story is mine...

Mr E

Version 13

The 3 I voted for were:

#12: Probably my favourite. It was an ordinary story (compared to some of the crazy hijacker stuff) but so well written that it completely drew me in.

#3: Completely batsh*t crazy (in a good way!) - so 'outside the box' that the box is a spec on the post-apocalyptic horizon.

#10: I liked the idea of the hijacker getting into the heads of the passengers, and the last line was great.

Some other random comments:

#4: The co-ordinates twist was very good, but going to the flight deck to collect a raffle prize didn't sit right with me.

#13: I liked the story. I was surprised that it was the only one that used the phrase "Hey Jude". The punctuation kind of bugged me though (no spaces after commas, 'i' instead of 'I' everywhere).

rsom

Voted #13 - it simply made me think "more, please! Wonder what happens next!"

silvervixen84

Version 8

I chose story 7, loved the twist.

Mine is soooooo awful compared to the rest of these brilliant pieces, but sure I'll try a different approach next time

pickarooney

Version 11

I only voted for 2 - numbers 7 and 10 as I couldn't separate 1, 2, 6,11 and 13.

I found number 1 intriguing, but as mentioned by a previous poster the inconsistencies ruined it in that I spent ages trying to figure out why the flight to Birmingham was landing in Heathrow and how exactly Ellen seemed to be on the plane, either physically or metaphysically. I would really like to see this one rewritten.

Number 2 was really very clever and well-written. However, it didn't captivate me so much as impress me. I almost voted for it for being so different but ultimately it didn't grab me enough.

After a couple of lines of number 3 I was tempted to skim the rest. 'Jesus, another turbulence story'. It then went fantastically wacky and I ended up enjoying it immensely. It is just a little too unstructured though, and misses the cut on this basis. This is another one that could be very good with a little retouching.

I could see the end of Number 4 coming from a long way off and I wasn't really convinced by the character's motivation. Not a bad story by any means, but as a serious piece it should be more believable.

Number 5 was majorly confusing. I'm not sure if the reader is meant to be completely in the dark or if I missed some subtlety in the story, but I have no idea what happens in this one. I find it hard to comment further as I'll look a tool if I've misread something obvious in it.

Number 6 was cute, with a side of depressing. Really easy to read, the story just flows superbly throughout. I'm assuming Jude is a bit delusional and has convinced himself he'll win the lottery but again I might have misinterpreted that or it might be deliberately ambiguous.

Throughout Number 7 I kept wondering if it was going to be a really obvious outcome or, as the quality writing style suggested, a subtle switch. Then I convinced myself that the writer would want me to think it was going to be a subtle switch and would double-bluff... The only gripe I'd have is that the passage outlining Omar's Taliban backstory felt a little forced, although I understand that the story needed the info included somehow.

The idea of number 8 is interesting, but the execution is a little sloppy. I did really like the last line and the callousness of the female character, I have to say. Jude taking a flight to deliver the bad news in person seemed a bit of a stretch.

I liked the idea of number 9 but felt it wasn't expanded on enough. I imagine it would quickly spiral into an unmanageable chicken-and-egg scenario if protracted, but could maybe have been better served as, if you will, a story within a story, maybe a twist where we only find out that the guy is writing reality as it happens, e.g. as he writes someone else experiences the events.

I found the pace of number 10 exhilarating. It's standard bombs and terror fare, but done incredibly well. The tension is superbly executed and the ending is stark and sudden. If you must write a straightforward story, this is a good example of how to do it.

I wanted to like number 11 more but something about it was wanting for me. I have no idea what DEFCON 2 is, and it put be off a bit. It reads a little like a well-structured Personal Issues post (but that **** is often the most entertainng fare on boards!) and of course there's the turbulence...

Number 12 was a well-told, bittersweet tale with a protagonist to really care about and a nice blend of emotion and introspection. There's precious little action though and I had to read it back a second time before voting to remember exactly what it was about.

Number 13, a few minor details aside (the seat number had no letter - was it a tiny plane with everyone sitting one behind the other?) was a well-written engaging piece and I would gladly have read on had we not been left hanging with that last line.

Bungy Girl

Hi,
I just wandered in here from the A/R/T forum. Last time I wrote a short story was the Leaving Cert :eek: .Really enjoyed reading these - the competition is a great idea.

I voted (think/hope I was logged in at the time?) for 5 stories.

#12 was my favourite. A memorable, sympathetic and believeable main character, while the narrative touched on several issues with a nice subtlety that made the story flow seamlessly.

#3 made me laugh out loud. It stood out for being a bit wacky and out-there. Creative use of the outline. Mentioned turbulence once but I think got away with it...

#9 made me think of the Twilight Zone (in a good way!) No wasted words here, thought it worked well.

#7 nice twist (didn't see it coming) and well written.

#10 stylish piece that's well structured and very polished.

Well done to all the writers.

Daemos

Version 8

I'm a fussy reader so I only voted for one, Version 7. I thought it was very well written, had a great premise, and a clever ending that turns all stereotypes on their heads.

Also giving special mention to Versions 9 and 10.

I liked the idea behind Version 9, but I would have enjoyed it more if the author didn't explain what was happening and just let it happen naturally. To me it felt like the author was saying "for anyone not paying attention here's what's happening", and sadly that took away from the experience for me.

I thought Version 10 did the best at incorporating the fact that when you board a plane you cross paths with all kinds of people and delve a bit into their lives.

BroomBurner

Version 13

I've only voted for one story this month - version 12.

The overall tone of this piece was completely different to the others, and the story had more of an easy flow to it. I thought the author painted a much larger picture, and more humanised characters, with their available wordcount than any of the others had.

iguana

Version 13

BroomBurner has summed up my feelings exactly, I could have written it word for word. I enjoyed quite a few of the other stories, but number 12 just really stood out the most for me.

Oryx

Version 11

Boy, this was a difficult one to vote for. There are no bad stories here, pretty much all of them work, some are blinders.

I voted for 6, 7 and 10.

6 I chose because it brought the story away from an actual plane, and left me guessing at the end, is the guy really gonna win or is he just a serial gambler? The dialogue was sweet and convincing.

7 Was very deftly handled and smart. I loved the deduction used to narrow down suspects, and all the details were accurate and convincing.

10 The descritions of people and their potential lives were what hooked me here. The writing was clear and the detail of the people really gave me a sense of the writer as an actual observer. I looked through the writers eyes.

Like I said, this was incredibly hard, I was very torn in my decision. The others I have feedback on are:

3 I thought was laugh out loud funny in parts, completely ridiculous and different. The writer has a real gift for crazy comedy.

1 had some wonderfully descriptive lines, but as a whole the story didnt grab me like the others. The last line is a lovely ending though.

2 Was very clever, but for me it felt a little forced. I think the device got in the way of the story.

5 The writing style I liked, but I was confused. I know somethings going on here, but I completely missed what that was.

13 I had to suspend my disbelief for. A lot of lax security and unconvincing plot points here, that kind of thing niggles me. But I could see it being ironed out into a great story.

A big well done to everyone, these are all a great read.

pathway33

Version 12

I voted for 4, 11 and 8 in that order because once I had read them I wanted to read them again. That can’t be a bad reason.
4
Loved the story of how one man’s actions can have a bearing on hundreds of others years later. Loved the ending. Never saw it coming. Never saw that the telephone number was a coordinate or that she had her own private plan re her father. Loved the idea of the winning raffle ticket that Jude had won so everyone else on the plane had lost – their lives.

11
I liked the style. It was nice and flowing. I thought it had a bit of everything. It made me laugh, the offerings to false gods, the comedy sized can of coke. It resonated with me and it almost made me cry. I read it again and I was glad that I did. One wonders if the boy in the photo really was his son or the son of one of her dates.

8
I’m giving this 3rd place because I liked the whole story. I like the unluckiness of Jude that he had his world destroyed by the female who possibly infected him. The ending was very good but if the last few lines had been moved around a bit it could have fought for 1st place. Reading it for a second time the idea of the possible scene of the elderly lady having to tell Jude he is HIV brings a smile. One wonders if Jude getting the heart attack actually caused the plane to crash because in a panic the pilot pressed the wrong buttons to divert, so the cold female destroyed not 1 life but hundreds