People You See

01.22.04

I stepped onto the plane and there she was, a goth looking flight attendant that greeted me with a smile. Everything was dark about her, dark mini-shirt, black hose with grayish to black top, even a smoky dark gemstone ring while the other hand had various small silvery rings covering almost every finger but her thumb. I’m surprise she didn’t have a silver chain coming out of her pocket and a tongue stud. What she did have was jet-black chin length, straight hair with a small but noticeable slight bend one inch from the ends, probably from a ponytail hold. Even though she was somewhat petite and had well fitted clothes suited for her, her shoes had their own personality, which must have also contained all her total weight. She wore black heel boots, which pounded the floor making hollow thud sounds everywhere she went. No one could sleep and everyone knew her exact location at all times.

She was the lead flight attendant and spoke gracefully on the intercom without any southern, northern, western, or funny accents. She always had a determined look on her face, an agenda or a point, something that stated she was going to keep everything in order and in lined. She was the anal type, nice outside but a total bitch if you fuck up your part of the deal; the type that wants everything done her way with absolutely no mistakes. If there was a mistake, she would send off a high pitch scream, unearth the dead, and grab a blunt object and beat your head to a bloody mush. She walked around a hundred times making sure everything was in order, that everyone was completely bloated, and also that no one could get any sleep with her pounding boots. Despite her militant personna, she had pretty features, perfectly shaped nose, delicate curved lips, angular chin, dark penetrating eyes, slender thin arms, and feminine slim body.

I always wonder where these people live, what kind of lives they live outside their occupation cell, and how they look like in their own preferred clothes. There is a whole story behind each of them, and it can go as wide and wild as anything, yet I can only make up stories to my own preference. Not knowing is probably the enchanting part, but knowing can be just as delicious.