short oneshot i did for a tumblr contest (got second place :D ) The contest consisted of getting a band member and 3 objects picked out at random by the judge and then having to use them all in your story. I got Mike Ayley, a shoelace, comb, and an ipod.
An Unlikely Meeting
"Last call for boarding flight 247, service to Vancouver." A tired voice crackled over the loudspeaker just as Mike Ayley's foot entered the plane. Out of breath from his wild sprint across the airport, he stumbled gracelessly down the aisle way.
"Seat twenty nine, A." He murmured to himself as he glanced at each passing row. He was so intent on seeking out his seat, in fact, that he failed to take notice of his surroundings. All it took was one slight misstep, and he unknowingly stepped onto his own shoe lace.
He fell almost instantly, letting out a sound of surprise so strange that he would later fiercely deny it had come from him. He landed on the thin aircraft floor with a thud. Pride hurting more than the pain, he stood up quickly, forcing his blush away.
He mentally shook it off, silently relieved that none of his bandmates had been there to witness it. At that thought, a pang of homesickness rolled through him. He hadn't seen the band in weeks, not since his uncle had passed away. Just a few hours, he kept telling himself. Then he'd be with his friends and family once again. Home.
Finally locating his seat, Mike dropped his backpack to the ground and kicked it into place under the seat ahead of him. After all the traveling he had done with the band, he considered himself a near expert passenger. Buckling his seat belt, he leaned back and closed his eyes, pulling his baseball cap further down his face until it obscured his eyes.
It was very peaceful. No screaming children – although he attributed that purely to Josh's absence – and no one kicking the back of his seat. It was nice. Except for that bit of music playing in the background. Where was it coming from?
Looking around, it didn't take long to locate the source. The girl seated beside him had her iPod blasting out some kind of rock music. He considered asking her to turn the volume down, but then something clicked. He knew that music. He would be able to recognize that raw-throated scream anywhere.
"Marianas Trench, eh?" He asked the girl.
She looked up – though how she could hear him over the blasting chorus of Shake Tramp was beyond him. She hit pause and dipped her head to the side. "I'm sorry, what were you asking?"
Mike laughed. "No worries, I was just commenting on your music. Marianas Trench, huh?"
The girl smiled, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Was it that loud? I'm so sorry, sir."
"No, not at all." Mike lied, not wanting to offend her. "And I'm Mike. Sir's a bit too formal for me." He held out his hand for her to shake.
The girl eyed him uncertainly for a minute, before deciding that he must just be being polite. She took his hand and shook it with a slight smile. "Arya. And, yes, they're my favorite band."
Mike's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
Thus began an hour long conversation on Marianas Trench, focusing on the band's lyrics, relatable style, and story. And throughout it all, Mike Ayley never said a word about who he was. He merely smiled, nodded, and gently corrected her here and there. It was nice, to talk about the band to an outsider, without the pressure that came with being recognized. It had been one of the most refreshing conversations of his life.
By the time they had reached the Vancouver airport, Arya had fallen asleep against the window beside her. Feeling a rush of gratitude for the girl who had made his trip home pass so quickly and nicely, he rummaged through his bag, hoping to find a CD or autographed poster he could leave her. Maybe one of Matt's old guitar picks.
Unfortunately, all he could find was the comb he usually used to style his mohawk. After a moment's pause, he had an idea. Smiling softly, he took out a Sharpie and began to write.
When the flight attendant came by about ten minutes later, she noticed a girl asleep in one of the rows. Shaking her, the attendant informed her that they had arrived in Vancouver, and everyone else had disembarked.
Arya stretched, pulling herself to her feet. When she did, something small and blue fell to the floor. Confused, she stooped over to pick it up. It was a comb, and on closer examination she found a small message. "Thanks for everything. Please come to the concert tomorrow and meet the rest of the guys. –Mike Ayley."
Arya's jaw dropped.
What did you think?
