Flying High


Her eye lids were heavy and beyond her control. A sensation of cold was seeping beneath her skin. A faint scent drifted in the air, of alcohol and sweat and coffee and violets. She tried to battle the mist surrounding her thoughts, tasting the fear but unable to scream. Then came the light, slowly at first. First one eye, then the other. She felt the cold disappearing, felt the warmth of a hand covering hers. β€œWhy do you fly so much, when you know you hate it” said her husband releasing her hand and waving for another G & T.

My 1st attempt at 100 words for FridayFiction

19 thoughts on “Flying High

  1. Great capture of the terror she’s experiencing facing up to her phobia. Phobias always seem so inexplicable to the people on the outside but you got right in her head.

  2. As a founder of the mile high white-knuckle club (as opposed to the other one) I could identify with this. Nicely done and welcome. Hope to see you again soon.

  3. Dear Helen,

    First, welcome to Friday Fictioneers. I have a close friend who is terrified of flying. I thought of her as I read this. Well done. I look forward to reading more from you.



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