Late Winter Flight

Sourced from google images
Sourced from google images

It’s here. Fall. Autumn. Whichever you identify with, is upon us. I can feel it. The moderate drop in temperature, the early sunsets and later sunrises. Cool steel clouds pregnant and swollen with potential rain linger overhead, and the winds strip that warm layer of body heat then cast it to the four corners rush in abundance. To say I’m anticipating an enjoyable winter would be a lie. I would enjoy winter if it snowed, even just a little. But being where I am, we get nothing better that blizzard winds and torrents of rain. I went to New Zealand a couple of years ago and the change was drastic, both culturally and climatically.

I remember leaving Australia at the Perth international airport and being worried the dogs would be able to sniff out the small joint I smoked before wandering into the main building itself, my fears weren’t entirely unfounded, but they didn’t come to fruition either. We had a bit of a hassle due to the travel agent fucking up the booking and getting us a basic deal with no meals or carry on, but after a polite discussion led by my mum (polite means agitated) we ended up paying the difference and taking our luggage on with us, but not before we played Tetris with our belongings to get to the required weight for carry on. Shit was a nightmare, so instead of using an agent, I’ll do it myself next time.

After the initial check in, we had a few hours to kill before we had to board so we went for a wander. I didn’t think to pick up anything to read for the flight so I went to the book shop and had a browse. Numerous bullshit books and magazines with nothing to catch my attention, I saw Artemis Fowl on the display and remembering my disdain for the series, I held back a mouthful of slanderous commentary to gently put the books behind something a little more appealing (Dolly magazine) so they wouldn’t curse another reader with childish writing and a thrill-less adventure. I can’t remember the author, but I would love to tell them not to sign ghost writing off to the mentally challenged.

Once I saved the passengers and staff from a potentially boring read, I walked another lap and saw it. A whole section dedicated to Stephen king (3 rows). I have read a fair amount of his work to date and one of my favourites is Kujo (inspired by Allie) and a series I hadn’t yet read, The Dark Tower. Needless to say, I grabbed the first book in a series of 7 and made my way to the forgettable cashier and made my purchase. I wanted to read it while I waited but thought better of it, I would wait until I had boarded the plane and the anxiety of an imminent crash had overwhelmed me. It didn’t take long.

Once boarded and assigned our chairs on the flying tube of death, the adventure could really begin. I was window side, watching the plane taxi, pick up speed and climb gracefully to the heavens above. By now it was nightfall and the lights below cut through the dark land like veins of bioluminescence. Even as we climber higher I could see traffic from the road below, they were smaller than ants, more like sprinkles on a cupcake and I was speechless. This was my first flight and I was excited. The plane climber higher, touching clouds before breaking through the surface to skim the black silk of canvas holding the stars. I had never seen anything like it. I was in awe and when I looked at the cloud again, it was a sea of silver cast with wisps and turrets. The closest I have been to peace and a feeling I won’t soon forget.

Once we broke away from the city and started our nonstop flight over the multitude of landscape hidden beneath, I remembered my book and I couldn’t hold back anymore, I had yo read it. I pulled the book out from my pack by the spine and the word ‘King’ glinted silver in the low light and I knew, this is the series that will change my life. Not in some metaphorical or clichéd sense, but literally. The way it was written, the story, the characters, the trials and tribulations that awaited, I could hardly fathom the magnificence that is Gunslinger and I was blown away instantly. An epic tale captured me and didn’t release me from its hold until I had turned the last page. I was left wanting more…

Once I had been graced with the first part of the tale, I thought to spare myself the torture of dwelling on what would happen next by watching some Hamish and Andy in-flight. Almost everyone else on the plane was asleep by this stage and I couldn’t control my laughter. Headphones don’t actually negate the vocal reactions of what I was hearing and a few people grew irritated, but my fucks had fluttered off on the wind prior to boarding and I tried my dandiest not to chuckle and guffaw too audibly, but it was almost too funny. I was enjoying what could possibly be my last laugh, and I wanted everyone to know. 4 hours had passed and only a few remained. I grew sleepy and caught a fee hours shut eye before we touched down in NZ, Auckland specifically.

After we departed the plane and collected out minimal belongings, we headed off for something to eat and for that elusive coffee to bring a little life to my weary eyes and tired limbs. I was well fed, watered and my current objective was a mission to find the next book in the series. To try and elude my fingers is futile young book, your pages beckon my gentle finger and your words yearn to be read, I know what you are. You’re God. My god. And together, we would change the course of my life and your inspiration would drive me to try and write myself. This is why I said it would change my life. I know I can do amazing work, and all I needed was the push I got from an inanimate object. I was on my way. The seed had been planted, and within 2 years, I would actively be writing my own story, including this small part.

My journey has begun. To date, I have 100,000 words written and now comes the hard part, getting it into chronological order to be edited and put into format for publishing. I feel the end approaches, and no, it’s not your traditional read. It isn’t full of glitz, glamour and happy endings. It’s full of pain, love and ‘what ifs’. I know I hurt people at times with my style, and it doesn’t bother me, not too much at least. But with that being said, it hasn’t won me any prizes nor has it been as hard as I imagined. Writing is easy, staying on the path is harder. So Trevor, Levi, Megs, Timmy Tim fucking Timmy, Scuffy, pinky, Kate, Katee, Amy, Allie, ***, and everyone else who has been touched on or mentioned, thank you. This is going into the book too, along with everything else on my 3 blogs and as such, you shall all be immortalised in writing and live forever in my conflicted heart. Hate, love, regret, temptation, lust and bad decisions. You’re all some part of who I am, and again, I thank you.

Thanks for reading all. Farm out.

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