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Allen Clarke Allen Clarke
Recommendations: 18

A Flight of Fantasy


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She had a friend.

They boarded The Chiquita Airways just shortly before dusk.It had been a mad rush just to get to the airport on time.Of course, their old 56 Pontiac wouldn`t turn over.Finally, it coughed to life and away they went; down the long stretch of road from Silver City to the airport; in a trail of blue smoke.They had looked forward to this little escape for a very long time.They had reserved two tickets in the twilight of their years together.The trip was the important thing, not so much their destination.



`Flight 23 from Silver City to Cookamunga!!All aboard!!


They felt the powerful surge of the plane as it made its` way down the runway.The drone of the small airplane lulled them off to that land where hardly a soul remembers where they had visited.The man had been having these desolate, disturbing dreams of late.Were they a harbinger, of something uneasy, just over the next rise?Sometimes, he would wake suddenly in a profuse sweat, feelng a strange sense of loss.He would glance over at her with a nagging sense of angst.Relief poured into his heart, as he surveyed the beautiful One; sleeping soundly by his side.A curious smile trailed off on her ruby-red lips.


They soared through the starry sky, and all seemed perfection.The lovers were in their state of bliss,free from their usual obligations.This made their flight to parts unknown all the much sweeter.They were now oblivious to the fact that they were travelling at the unspeakable velocity of 250 kms per hour.They were, at present; as close to heaven, as mortals can be, at eighteen thousand feet.In her dream-world, she felt secure, cocooned by the warm,sweet presence of something she could never clearly define.It was similiar to the warm feeling one gets after the third glass of wine.This seemed a contradiction of her character, since she had never tasted alcohol in her life.Through the porthole of the cabin, one could see rushing wisps of cloud, as the plane whipped through the mystical heavens.


Far below, the land assumed the aspect of a vast patchwork quilt.It was like watching a world in miniature.At some point, they were travelling low enough so that one could see the tiny cars and trucks with their teensy-weensy headlights flashing on the ribbons of road far beneath.They roared above many a sprawling, sleepy metropolis and small towns.The lights of the cities seemed to render the look of a sparkling,jewelled crown about their appearance.It seemed that the wonderment of peace in flight could not last out the night.A sudden jolt of turbulence brought the world travellers back to this present reality.


``Mornin`dear,``he says with his pie hole reeking of jungle mouth.
``I am certainly not a deer!,``she joshed, with school-girl playfulness.
``What are you then, my sweet?,``he cajoled, reaching into his vest pocket for a cigarette.
``Don`t even think about lighting that!``she wailed, like some exasperated health freak.
``Aw, I just wanted to make like Bogey!``Jungle Mouth protested.His golden curls flexed as he tipped back his fedora.
``Then I shall presume to be your Bacall!``demurred the lady with the bright red lips.This bought on a splash of bubbley laughter from the couple.
``Dear, do you suppose that it`s true what they say about the Legend of Shangri-La?``queried our would-be Bogey.
``Heavens, no, dear!``she says,with an impish grin,``Don`t you know we`ve been living there for the last 25 years?``Again, they chortled like children, so unaware of life`s sudden turns.
``Thanks, I needed to hear you say that.``he disclosed.Talkng with her suddenly made his mouth feel as though it had been refreshed with a spritzer of Scope.


Somewhere during their flight,Ruby Red-Lips and Fresh-Breath Bogey lost track of time.All that they knew was that time was temporarily suspended in the air.And, yet, one look in the mirror, reflected the awful truth, wrinkles and all.If only, they thought,we could stay up here forever.But, the passing of time was inevitable, and one can only soldier on, as they say.


Their lives on Maple Street had not been a bed of roses.The thorns of life would often prick through their satin sheets.Still, in all, life had been good.Their plates had always been full with something or other.Bogey could attest to that because he had long been assigned to the never-ending task as head-dishwasher.The guys at work always seemed to notice his dish-pan hands.He always thanked the Man above for dirty dishes, because it always meant that they had something to eat.They had a long-haired son( a little on the punkish side)who was chained to his video games day and night.They saw him, once in awhile,briefly, and ,usually at mealtimes.


They were somewhere near the Gulf of Mexico,when the plane became non-existent.At least, that`s what was reported on the early morning news.


``Flight 23 from Silver City to Cookamunga has been reported as missing.In the early morning hours of August 17th,2011, it appears as though the small 8 passenger Cessna heading midway to it`s destination suddenly lost all contact with Air Command Traffic Control.Stay tuned for further notifications.``


One moment, it was a blip on the radar, and, then; quite inexplicably, it was gone.It was an event that will remain a nagging question mark imbedded on the psyche of all who knew them.Who really knows? Maybe, there really is a Shangri-la in the mists, somewhere out there.Maybe, it`s a secret place, a haven, mysteriously shrouded, where lovers go; to be together forever.


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