For the first couple hours, conversations continuing from dinner filled the space between seats, and I strained to listen for clues that anyone was aligned with Karl. After the talking settled, some people slept, but Karl’s presence, in my line of sight near the middle of the plane, made it hard to shut my eyes. While Grey went over his lab notes on the newborn crisis, I clicked on the light over my seat and dug out Ben’s journal. Every single page was filled with his barely legible chicken-scratch. Some pages contained journal entries with rambling thoughts on our new community, and other pages were filled with transcriptions of conversations he either overheard or took part in over the radio. I was rereading a transcription of a conversation about oil refinement when Daniel’s voice came over the intercom, waking all of the sleeping delegates. “We’re making our descent into Paris now. Please buckle up.” Soon we were standing on the ground, waiting in the predawn darkness. A light breeze swirled strands of my matted hair, and I sleepily attempted to brush through it with my fingers.
What do You think about Autumn In The City Of Lights?
