Beautiful
This is a short story I wrote for my English class, I thought it was decent so here goes…
Beautiful
By: Andrea Lynn McLeod
So here I am. Sitting in waiting room 18D. The sound of luggage rolling down the corridors, the smell of food drifts over to the empty 18D waiting room. Im by myself, stretched out over two seats, slowly tracing my intricate tattoo up my arm and across my shoulder and stop and imagine tracing it down my spine where it continues. The waiting room is empty. I brush aside my bangs and watch as a young man slowly sits down across from me. He’s maybe only a few years older than me, he reminds me of a guy in my photography class, the one I have a thing for. He looks at his feet, then looks straight at me.
“Must be a small plane” he murmurs. “what makes you say that?” I answer in my heavy NYC accent. He raises his eyebrows. “well their are only two of us”. “Were almost an hour early” I reply. He doesn’t say anything, he seems to be studying me. Usually I would have felt uncomfortable under such a serious look from a complete stranger. But I took a minute to think what this guy could be thinking. I stand out. I’ve got jet black tattoos all up and down my arms, my tight black sleeveless shirt shows the top of my breasts that have paw print tattoos that mirror each other, my ears are gauged not freakishly huge… but definitely big. My hair is crazy; a huge side bang, the rest short and choppy except for the long strip of hair that starts at the nape of my neck and falls near the middle of my back, dyed black, blond, and red. Along with more metal in my face than is imaginable, I’ve got so many piercings. The list goes on and on, but like I said I stand out.
“Your beautiful” says the guy. Definitely not the response I’m used to from people. “With all the piercings, hair, and tattoos.” “You hitting on me or something?” I joked. “Maybe” he grinned. It was crazy, I didn’t know him but I felt so special seeing him smile. he seemed like the kind of guy who never smiled.
More people were arriving to 18D. Seats were filling up quick. I was forced to sit in one chair, no longer free to stretch out and relax. “We will now begin boarding first class” announced the airline attendant. I watched as all the rich kids lined up, sporting their Louis Vouittan and Rolex watches. Then they called everyone else, I momentarily forgot about the guy. I found my seat, and pulled out some magazines I had snagged from first class. I had a window seat, I watched as people outside in orange vests made motions to each other, and then looked at the sky… it was foggy. I started to think about how airports are particularly ugly, and how I was going to explain my visit to my rents, and most importantly what would everyone be saying after the incident at school last Friday. Lost in my thoughts I was interrupted by a crisp “Hey beautiful.”
I turned and saw the nameless guy giving me that serious look. “Hey there stranger” I answered softly. When a lady staring in my direction caught my attention, she look frightened. I wanted to get up in her face about it, but didn’t want to be taken off the plane. When I realized she wasn’t looking at me, she was looking at no name… and his hands. In his hands was a shiny gun. My heart dropped, I recoiled and brought myself as close as I could to the window, I couldn’t talk. I looked back at the woman, we made eye-contact. She nodded her head as if to say: Im getting help. They guy hadn’t even noticed I was scared to death.
“Sir, Im afraid you have to get off the plane” said a huge buff guy with a gun. “Whys that?” asked no name. And before another word could be said… he turned to me and said: “The blood that runs through your veins is beautiful too.” Blackness. A muffled scream, a bang, another bang. And pain that throbbed through my whole body. I was shot. My “beautiful” blood soaked into seat cushions, sprayed on the walls, and trickling down my skin. “Your too beautiful for this world” he whispered in my ear…. The last words I would ever hear.
The End.
