Masks
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I don't own a thing. This plot IS my own. So, ha ha on you! HA ha ha!!! HA HA!!! Um, this is NOT like majorly H/A, I mean it kinda has it. I dunno.
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"Oh," sighed a blonde young woman. She looked out her airplane window wistfully as the island rapidly decreased size below her. She opened her laptop, and started the constant tap again. White and black shapes stared at her, and her head swam. "Stupid clothes, cameras, everything." Tanned hands spread out on the gray keyboard, telling her to continue her mind declining. She glared at the screen, and leaned her head on the seat back, feeling her vision blacken. Her eyes shut, and she slept. A gray, monotonous, dreary airfield lay before her, drizzled with water. She ran towards the main building. She faced a pay phone. Her fingers pressed familiar buttons, unconscious of what they were. A man's voice spoke on the other end.
"Bob, can you pick me up at the airport, I'll be at the pay phone near the door. My car is at my apartment," she explained.
"Who's speaking?" the voice replied.
"Are you Bob?" she said nervously, her voice shook.
"No, I'm Arnold," Arnold told her.
"I got the wrong number," she hastily answered.
"Wait! I can pick you up anyway." She hung up, and shakily sat down. Her worst nightmares confronted her.