Holiday

“GO TO GATE”, the screen screamed at him.

He picked up the small holdall that contained his life and sauntered along the corridor.

He stopped to look out of the window and watched as planes were repositioned, moved around on the tarmac like gigantic chess pieces.

A tear ran down his cheek. He was sad to be leaving, but he’d already outstayed his welcome.

One day I’ll be back, he thought, but he wasn’t sure if this was true.

He arrived at the gate where another 200 or so impatient people were already waiting.

Eventually they were allowed to board the plane.

He spied a couple of men who looked Middle Eastern.

I hope they’re terrorists, he thought, angry that he would even think such a thing. He knew he'd rather be blown up than return to his old life.

Two hours later the unblown up plane touched down in his home town. He took a taxi home and went straight to bed.

That night he dreamed of the fun times he’d had on his holiday. Dreams of memories that meant nothing.