A flight attendant learns that one of the passengers has brought a gun on board.
Clean. Poised. Professional. Capable. Efficient. She was all of these and more. Her shoulder length brown hair was swept back into an elegant French twist, pinned neatly into place beneath her prim blue hat. Her smile was bright, helpful. A textbook example of a flight attendant.
This was just a routine flight; completely continental: Seattle to Chicago, one way. The only thing that was a little awkward about the flight was the time. Outside the window, the sky was the inky blackness of the early morning hours. Most flight attendants hated the graveyard shift, but she rather liked it. Everyone was sleepy, and there were never that many people on the early morning flights.
There were maybe 2 dozen or so people in the coach cabin, none in first class, and all were fast asleep. Well, not all. There was one girl. In the last row of the aisle to the right. Seat G26. It was a window seat, which was unsurprising, as children often opt for the window seats.
The girl was small, but looked around fifteen. Her hair was long, blonde and somewhat shaggy looking. Her bangs were long, ludicrously so, that when she tilted her head a little towards the floor, her eyes were completely hidden. She wasn't exceptionally pretty. Rather average really. Chin was spotted with acne and she somewhat overweight. Her mouth was drawn in a perpetual scowl, for the whole of the flight. Maybe the girl was visiting a family member she was not fond of. Maybe she was moving. The flight attendant neither knew or cared really.
The girl had been the only person on the flight to call for an attendant. There was only one flight attendant. Making no noise in her demure heels, the attendant went over to the girl and asked in her clear, professional voice,
"Can I help you miss?"
The girl had asked for a blanket in a soft, muted voice. And when the blanket was given to her she dumped in unceremoniously in the seat next to her and resumed staring straight out into the inky blackness.
The flight attendant stood next to her, unsure what to do, when the girl began rooting throught her carryon bag.
A flash of silver.
The attendants clear blue eyes widened.
A gun.
This girl has a gun.
How the hell did she get a gun onboard?
Hearing the attendants barely stifled gasp, the girl looked up, and shook her bangs from her face, finally revealing her eyes. Her large, sleepy-looking eyes. Her big, doelike eyes with hazel irises surrounded by whites crisscrossed with red.
Had she been doing drugs? Or was she simply sleepy?
The girl slipped her a sly smile, and a whispered promise.
"Don't worry. This isn't for you. I have personal business with someone on this plane. And if you don't want to get hurt, along with a few innocents, I suggest you walk away." With this the girl calmly stood up, smiled at her one last time, and walked toward the cockpit.
It was only when the flight attendant was walking away, back to the safety of the attendant's area did she feel the hot tears making their way down her smooth, pale cheek.
Five minutes later, just before the plane was to land enter the Seattle airspace; a deafening crack rang through the cabin. The girl slipped out of the cabin, and began to walk calmly to her seat amid the mild confusion of the other bleary eyes passengers. As she passed the attendant, she gave the shaken woman a small secret smile.
And the plane began its descent, rapidly falling down, down, down.
A young girl, alone in the last seat of the aisle to the right, staring blankly into the inky blackness of the early morning hours, began to cry. Beneath her long bangs, the tears slipped one by one, rapidly falling down, down, down.