Red Eyes

“Sir… may I assist you with something,” the flight attendant asked a nervous Peter.

“No,” Peter said, sweating in his seat. His eyes were open, but the flight attendant knew from his face and his jittery leg, he wasn’t fine. “Thank you.” 

“Are you sure,” she asked softly. “We have-“ 

“I’m fine,” Peter persisted. “Thank you. Really.” His leg continued to bounce nervously in place. Peter did not enjoy flying. It brought him no joy whatsoever, but when a connection flight to Amsterdam waited for him in the distance, his fears seemed more like an annoying passenger.

He decided to deal with the stress that had been building within him for decades and travel to the place that excited him the most. Not even a terrible, mid-air collision could stop him.

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Wheezing

I’ve snuck out and my parents don’t know where I am because it’s 1998 and cell phones aren’t a thing. 

It’s late because I spent all night drinking, showing off to a bunch of college kids I don’t know. 

The party was a bust and I’m on the road now before I get into some real trouble. 

It’s interesting when there isn’t any lights and there’s a guy on the side of the road. 

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