The Airport

...Airports are funny places. And by funny I mean of course hysterical.

I waited at the security gate while these men coming seemingly from nowhere with large storage carts quickly moved through the gates, not discreetly but rather hurried so as not be caught. And they weren’t. This caused no commotion as airport security is more concerned with weapons than with terrorists. In America, a small, old, caucasian woman can be held for hours for bringing in a 6 ounce tube of hand lotion while a 6-foot-2 dark-skinned man with a full, black beard and a turban is whisked through without incident because all of his 3 ounce tubes are in a sealed plastic bag. The men with carts carried nothing but containers of a fine, grey powder, odorless. They didn’t carry weapons. They were terrorists.

I found myself not long after in a back hallway with the carts and a man whom I was helping. How or when we met I was not privy to. I had no say in what we did, nor how it was done. I had an empty Dr. Pepper bottle which I tossed aside to the floor, noticing that another bottle had preceded it in the very spot. They both had yellow caps. When asked by the man where my bottle was I told him, he said “You idiot! That’s how the virus is applied.”

Oh dear.

I went back to retrieve my bottle, only I had trouble finding mine out of the two. After deciding which one it was. I learned I was part of an elaborate plan to spread a virus to the whole world, as a carrier. Only this was no ordinary virus, it would greatly increase life expectancy by a hundred years or so. It came in powder form and I had been given my application already. As much as I travel, at home and abroad, the question plagued me: Who needs terrorists when you don’t need weapons? The way this worked was the bottle was a kind of applicator. It contained the virus and applied the virus. One would firmly press on the infected area with the tip of the bottle. When the area became hard or stiff, the application was successful.

This virus, Vahgner-Beta6 as it was to be called, would allow soft tissue to become firm, not unlike rigor mortis, which would allow the body to deteriorate at a much slower rate, thus prolonging life, whether one was willing or not. As of this particular day, 6 people had been blessed (a “blessing” was what the process was called by the sick minds who created it). I, being number 6, was an unwilling participant in this whole scheme, yet I no longer had the strength or desire to prevent it. Perhaps it was taking its toll on me mentally as well? Oh dear indeed.

Many questions now plagued me: How long? How many? How do you win a war you have no desire to fight against? No one is a willing participant, and yet neither is any one a knowing participant. My soul cries out, my mind falls deeper into lethargy and my body lives on as I carry out this task of giving more life. Oh dear has become oh well.

Oh my...