Petra Smith

Petra hated three things.

  1. Her name. She couldn't stand her first name: Petra was so...peculiar. Everybody called it "unique", but she didn't want to be that unique. And plain boring Smith after it. That just made the Petra part look weirder. She longed for a pretty Rebecca, or Helen, or...not Petra. And not Smith.
  2. Travelling. As if it wasn't enough that she was having to travel out on her own- stupid Mark, not turning up at the airport. She knew he'd run off with that floozy, how unprofessional. They were after all on a business trip. But if travelling alone wasn't enough, she was in economy class. Not even first. It was as if the firm had no budget on her and Mark. One day she'd get out of that dull job: persue a career on...well, that was a hindrance. Petra had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She just drifted about, trying to do well in everything. But that meant she had no special talent- not that she knew of, anyway.
  3. Superstitions.

This last one was becoming the most evident. Everybody looked so jumpy...the plane was travelling on a course across the Bermuda Triangle, and suddenly everyone was freaking out. Petra wanted to get up and yell at them to be quiet. Last night had been a restless one, and she wanted nothing more than to rest, which was extremely hard in this situation. Sighing, Petra turned to the window. The sky was dull, and the clouds merged into dirty browns and greys: lazy colours. No real effort put into the landscape. It was as if the surroundings were becoming superstitious as well: tensing up. Petra reassured herself it was just the weather coniditions around this part of the globe: that was after all the reason for the disappearances. Planes go down all over the globe: the chances of this one crashing were extremely slim. Petra pulled the tiny blind of the window down and rested her head on a tiny pillow provided by the smiling hostesses.

It was going to be a long ride.

The End

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