Normally planes would be criss-crossing the sky like some airborne x-y graph. But all the aeroplanes were parked in neat rows. The airport terminal had grown strangely quiet.
I felt as if I was on the edge of my seat, but my seat was dangling by a dreadlock over the Grand Canyon. It was like a google times worse than the feeling I got when I watched horror movies. My insides were bunched up and a primal scream was permanently wedged at the back of my throat. All that was missing were those screeching violins. But I couldn’t cover my eyes or switch off the TV. This horror story was my life.
I had to get out of here. I followed the exit signs. My spine felt as if the vertebrae were being crushed under the weight of my backpack. A queue of people stretched through the sliding doors that led outside and slithered around a maze of barricades. They were checking and double-checking their phones. They all kept their heads down and their eyes averted.
