I am doing #nanowrimo this year despite having a newborn. I figured I would throw up page 1 here for you guys to check out. I don’t anticipate putting up any more pages but for some reason it seemed fun to put up page 1. It is, like, a momentous occasion or something. If you sign up, or are signed up for nanowrimo.org, feel free to buddy me @somnicide and see how it goes.
Allison yawned and looked out the tiny port window. The crimson majesty of the sunrise had already given way to a pale desert sun. The ground below was mostly flat but she could see a few tiny specks of black shadows on the New Mexico wasteland below that made her think of of the dots and dashes which made up an old Western Union telegram.
“The desert is big. STOP. So glad I am flying. STOP. How fucking big is this state? STOP. I can’t believe people actually li-”
The plane juddered hard to the right – Allison wondered if it was starboard on a plane – and for a moment it felt like forward momentum had been replaced with sideways. Her heart pounded heavy in her chest and she wanted to scream as a tepid ‘ding’ reminded her to buckle her seat belt.
“Sorry about that folks,” the captain’s voice was the forced calm of professionals everywhere “just a bit of bumpy air, nothing to worry about. We’re just going to adjust our altitude a bit and see if we can’t smooth this ride out for the rest of the flight to LAX where the temperature is a balmy 78 degrees.”
The intercom went silent as the Boeing 737 from Dallas to Los Angeles hit another bump in the air.
Allison looked around at her fellow passengers as she cinched her own belt a little bit tighter. She had given most of them nicknames and several of them back stories. It was part of her ritual when flying. She liked to think that it kept her creativity sharp even though she was usually neither creative nor sharp in her descriptions. Despite this fact, more than one of her previous anonymous traveling companions had unknowingly ended up in “This Is The Life”, the sitcom which paid the rent on Allison’s Miracle Mile loft and kept her fridge full of cat food and yogurt.
Single Mom predictably reached across Michael Myers Jr. (the Halloween one, not the funny one) and made sure he was buckled in tight. Almost as an afterthought she took away the mechanical pencil which he had been stabbing into the tray table almost non stop since boarding. Allison was pretty sure that Must Be Drunk Stewardess would scowl disapprovingly that Single Mom had left the tray table down.
Dallas Cowboys guy was tightening his lap belt over a gut that was not-so-well hidden behind the number 9. He exhaled sharply while doing so as if that extra inch or two of security would make a bit of difference if the plane fell from the sky.
Hot But Probably Gay Guy was thumb typing furiously into his Blackberry with a slight smirk on his face so absorbed in his social media world that he hadn’t even noticed the turbulence. She imagined he was tweeting something snarky and glib or perhaps putting in an order to sell all his stock in this particular airline company.
Like Allison they looked around nervously, each seeking some kind of comfort from the strangers sharing their deaths.