Flight

They were twenty-one hours, ten minutes when the flight 3402 disappeared in thin air.

Ten minutes before.

The little girl pressed her nose against the cold glass. Her mother, at her side, was sleeping with her head twisted. One by one, the lights of the passengers turned off and the cabin was about to fall into darkness if it wasn’t because of a little light at the end of the hall. The windows closed, a mumble complain could be heard.

The atmosphere was starting to feel heavy with so many people in the same can.

She had a dotted dress, like the stars when they appear during the day. She was thinking, without unsticking her cold nose from the glass. She thought it was strange that the windows were so little when the plane was so big. And she shouldn’t really care, because outside everything was reduced to black.

Flying through the dark atmosphere, with blind steps, drowning entire towns under its feet.

It wouldn’t be so hard not to see them. The humanity and its cities looked like ants, or worse, as little as dusts specks. They pierced a cloud and everything shook, but nothing on the landscape below changed. They were so tall now that she couldn’t even see the brilliant dot of the country they were flying over. The darkness was dense and heavy, absolute and infinite, like emptiness itself.

The darkness was around everything, and the last light at the end of the hall died, and they could be going up, gliding or falling down and no one would be able to tell.

And she asked herself if someone would miss her.

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